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ROYAL  WOMEN 


QucLii  Klizabftli   in    voulh 


ROYAL    WOMEN 

Their  History  and  Romance 


BY 

MARY  RIDPATH-MANN 

Author    of 
The     Unofficial     Secretary 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1913 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1913 


Published  March,  1913 


To  the  Memory  of  <-      -7 

My  Father 

JOHN  CLARK  RIDPATH 

Whose  Love  of  History 

Is  My  Inheritance 


FOREWORD 

"XiriSTORY  is  the  essence  of  innumerable 
I  I  biographies."  So  says  Carlyle.  It  was 
the  author's  purpose  when  these  lectures 
were  written  to  place  before  the  audience  in  a  new 
light  some  of  the  women  who  have  helped  to  make 
up  the  world's  history.  No  effort  was  made  to 
prepare  such  as  would  be  suitable  for  school-room 
or  study  class,  in  which  every  date  must  be  abso- 
lutely correct,  every  fact  be3'ond  question.  These 
things  lie  within  the  province  of  the  text-book. 
The  author  takes  for  granted  that  the  great  his- 
toric events  are  known  to  all,  and  has  therefore 
endeavored  to  use  history  solely  to  illustrate  char- 
acter. It  is  the  charm  of  history  that  no  matter 
how  well  we  may  know  the  facts  —  the  bricks  and 
mortar,  as  it  were,  that  have  builded  the  historical 
fabric  —  we  turn  with  eagerness  to  any  new  in- 
formation which  a  little  research  may  bring  to 
light,  even  though  it  add  slightly  to  our  former 
knowledge. 

It  is  the  private  life  of  royal  personages  which 
Interests  us.  Their  public  lives,  restricted  by  cere- 
mony   and    disguised    by    formalities,    give    little 


Foreword 

insight  into  their  real  characters.  Not  until  we 
strip  them  of  the  lustre  which  blinds  us,  the 
glamour  and  the  pomp  in  which  they  are  envel- 
oped, can  we  see  them  as  they  are.  One  fact  we 
acknowledge  as  unquestionable.  No  matter  to 
what  heights  men  and  women  may  climb,  they  are 
still  human.  The  triumphs  of  glory  and  ambition 
do  not  satisfy  the  longings  of  the  heart.  A  man 
though  he  be  a  king,  a  woman  though  she  be  an 
empress,  feels  as  much  the  need  of  human  sym- 
pathy, of  personal  happiness,  as  does  the  humblest 
citizen  or  the  little  peasant  girl  who  walks  bare- 
footed in  the  fields.  Ofttimes  these  royal  people 
frankly  admit  that  they  would  exchange  the  robes 
of  state  and  the  jeweled  crown  for  the  sound  of  a 
voice  or  a  smile  from  some  far-distant  face. 

The  Dryasdust  may  contend  if  he  will  that 
history  and  romance  are  as  far  removed  from  each 
other  as  the  East  is  from  the  West,  yet  even  he 
must  admit  that  all  romance  when  it  concerns 
royalty  becomes  history.  None  can  deny  the  part 
that  the  Casket  Letters,  whether  genuine  or  forged, 
played  in  the  life  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots ;  and 
the  love  letters  of  Mirabeau  and  Gambetta  are  as 
much  a  part  of  the  history  of  France  as  is  the 
Code  Napoleon. 

History  and  romance,  then,  go  hand  in  hand. 
Where  the  one  leads  the  other  follows.     History 


Foreword 

IS  like  a  gigantic  fortress  whose  grim  and  massive 
walls  triumphantly  defy  decay.  Romance  is  a 
tender,  clinging  vine.  Year  after  year  it  clambers 
over  those  damp  and  musty  walls.  It  creeps  into 
every  tiny  nook  and  crevice.  It  hides  their  bare 
ugliness  from  the  sight  of  man,  and  keeps  them 
green  forever  and  a  day. 

M.  R.  M. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I     The  Last  of  the  Tudors     ....  1 

Elizabeth  of  England 

II     Crown  and  Thistle 53 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots 

III     A  Victim  of  the  Revolution  .     .     .     105 
Marie  Antoinette 

IV     The  Empress  of  the  French     .     .     171 
Josephine 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Queen  Elizabeth  in  youth Frontispiece 

Henry  Eighth 2 

Anne  Boleyn 6 

The  Tower  of  London 20 

Traitors'  Gate 20 

Sir  Walter  Ealeigh 34 

Kobert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex 34 

Queen  Elizabeth  wearing  the  peacock  dress     ...  36 

London  Bridge 38 

Queen  Elizabeth's  walk  at  Windsor 38 

Elizabeth   hesitating  to   sign   the   order  for   Mary's 

execution 42 

Death  of  Queen  Elizabeth 50 

Mary  Stuart  in  youth 53 

James  Fifth  and  Mary  of  Lorraine 58 

Stirling  Castle 62 

Francis  of  Valois 70 

Henry  Stuart,  Lord  Darnley 70 

Holyrood  Castle 74 

Apartment  of  Mary  at  Holyrood 74 

The  casket  letters 88 

Abdication  of  the  Queen 94 

The  execution 94 

Marie  Antoinette  in  youth 105 

Louis  Sixteenth,  King  of  France 110 

The  last  roll  call  during  the  Eeign  of  Terror     ..    .     .  124 

Marie   Antoinette   and   her   children 142 

Louis  Sixteenth  taking  leave  of  his  family     .     .     .  160 

Louis  Sixteenth  before  the  bar  of  the  Convention     .  162 


PAGE 

Louis  Sixteeutb  ou  the  scaffold 162 

Marie  Antoinette  taking  leave  of  the  Dauphin     .     .  164 

The  night  before  the  execution 166 

Marie  Antoinette  in  the  cart 166 

Josephine 171 

Josephine  in  youth 180 

Josephine  as   Empress 186 

Coronation   of  Josephine 194 

Napoleon   announcing   to   Josephine   his    decision   to 

divorce  her 196 

The  retreat  from  Moscow 204 

Tomb  of  Josephine  at  Keuil 212 

Tomb  of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena 212 

The  Emperor 214 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TUDORS 

Elizabeth  o£  England 


ROYAL  WOMEN 

I 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  TUDORS 

Elizabeth 

SO^IEWHERE  in  the  history  of  ahnost  every 
people  we  find  the  story  of  a  Golden  Age.  It 
was  the  Age  of  Pericles  in  Greece.  It  was 
the  Augustan  Age  in  Rome.  It  was  Florence 
under  the  Medicii.  It  was  while  Louis  Fourteenth 
was  king  in  France.  It  was  the  Elizabethan  Age 
in  England. 

The  story  of  Elizabeth,  the  last  of  the  Tudors, 
is  the  whole  history  of  England  for  nearly  half  a 
century.  Hers  is  perhaps  the  most  distinguished; 
name  in  the  annals  of  royal  women,  and  the  years 
of  her  reign  — 1558  to  1603  —  cover  the  most 
fascinating  period  in  English  history.  There  is 
scarcely  a  thing  about  her  which  is  not  interesting. 
Even  the  circumstances  which  surrounded  her  birth 
were  romantic. 

There  was  once  a  school-boy  who  when  told  to 
write  a  composition  on  Henry  Eighth  started  out 

1 


2  Royal  Women 

boldly  by  saying,  "Henry  Eighth  was  the  most 
married  man  in  history ! "  When  we  recall  the 
harems  of  the  sultans  and  the  wives  of  Solomon, 
we  are  compelled  to  admit  that  there  is  some 
inaccuracy  in  the  young  man's  diagnosis;  but  the 
numerous  ventures  matrimonial  of  Henry  Eighth 
certainly  added  much  to  the  history  of  his  time. 
His  reificn  and  that  of  his  six  wives  had  an  effect 
upon  those  of  both  his  daughters.  With  all  his 
conduct,  he  had  many  of  the  qualities  of  a  great 
ruler.  He  did  much  for  England,  yet  a  glance 
at  the  celebrated  portrait  of  him  by  Hans  Holbein 
makes  us  pause  and  wonder.  It  is  that  of  a  stout, 
broad-shouldered  man,  in  sumptuous  apparel,  be- 
decked with  jewels.  The  head,  with  its  large,  bony 
frame,  is  covered  with  soft  flesh.  There  is  a  hard 
look  in  the  small  eyes  under  the  straight  eyebrows, 
a  sensual  mouth  —  the  whole  face  a  picture  of 
callousness  beneath  which  the  pleasing  traits  which 
Nature  doubtless  gave  him  originally  have  totally 
disappeared.  Yet  the  chroniclers  of  the  times  unite 
in  saying  that  Henry's  personality  was  pleasing, 
that  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him  felt  his 
charm  of  manner.  Perhaps  the  fascination  which 
he  seemed  to  exercise  over  women  may  be  attributed 
to  the  fact  that  wherever  kingly  favor  is  shown  it 
is  always  the  voice  of  ambition  which  replies.  Royal 
attentions  are  hard  to  resist. 


Henry  Eiglith 


Elizabeth  3 

Henry's  first  wife  was  Catherine  of  Aragon,  the 
daughter  of  Ferdinand  and  Isahclla  of  Spain.  She 
had  been  married  previously  to  his  older  brother, 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  but  the  latter  died  young,  and 
the  king,  his  father,  was  very  anxious  for  political 
reasons  to  keep  Catherine  in  England  as  the  wife 
of  Henry.  The  Church  was  loth  to  consent  to  this 
marriage;  and  not  only  that,  it  was  against  the 
English  law.  Not  until  1907  was  the  law  which 
then  applied,  which  forbade  a  man  to  marry  his 
deceased  wife's  sister  or  his  brother's  widow,  modi- 
fied In  England.*  But  kings  are  often  a  law 
unto  themselves,  and  so  the  marriage  took  place. 
Catherine  was  five  years  older  than  Henry,  and 
although  she  was  the  mother  of  many  children,  only 
one  lived.  This  was  Mary  Tudor,  the  first  woman 
in  England  who  was  a  queen  in  her  own  right 
because  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  king. 

Elizabeth  was  truly  a  child  of  romance.  When 
the  Princess  Mary  was  a  little  girl  there  came  to 
court  in  attendance  upon  her  a  pretty  little  maid-in- 
waiting  named  Anne  Boleyn.  She  was  winsome, 
attractive,  and  well-born.     No  sooner  had  Henry 

*A  fpw  years  aj^o  a  clprgyman  of  tho  English  Clinrch  refused 
the  Holy  rommunion  to  a  man  who  had  married  his  brother's 
widow.  He  followed  the  refusal  with  a  request  that  his  parish- 
ioner bring  suit  against  him  in  order  to  see  if  something  could 
not  be  done  toward  repealing  the  law.  The  result  was  that  the 
law  was  modifled  in  1907  to  the  extent  that  the  civil  marriage 
Is  now  binding.  The  church  may  still  refuse  the  Holy  Com- 
munion if  the  clergyman  sees  fit. 


4  Royal  Women 

set  e^'es  upon  licr  than  he  perceived  what  a  heinous 
crime  he  had  been  committing  all  these  years  in 
living  with  his  dead  brother's  wife!  Well,  it  was 
never  too  late  to  mend.  He  would  no  longer  be 
guilty  of  breaking  the  law. 

He  called  in  his  friend,  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and 
laid  his  troubles  before  him.  Wolsey  knew  very 
well  the  opposition  which  the  Head  of  the  Church 
would  put  forth,  so  he  placed  a  double  role.  He 
attempted  to  keep  in  the  good  graces  of  both  the 
king  and  the  Holy  Father.  This  Henry,  of  course, 
discovered.  He  wasted  no  time  on  the  Cardinal. 
He  stripped  him  of  all  his  honors  and  possessions. 
Finally  Wolsey  was  arrested  and  was  to  be  brought 
to  London  for  trial.  When  they  came  for  him, 
however,  he  was  dying.  Unable  to  survive  the  ruin 
of  his  fortune  and  fame,  he  was  broken  in  body  and 
mind.  He  arose  from  his  bed  and  attempted  to 
accompany  them,  but  was  so  ill  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  stop  on  tlie  way  at  the  Abbey  of  Leicester, 
where  Wolsey  died.  Here  at  this  old  abbey  he 
spoke  the  words  afterward  made  immortal  by  Shake- 
speare. He  said  to  his  old  friend  and  servant, 
Thomas  Cromwell : 

And  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell, 
And  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,  say  I  taught  thee. 


Elizabeth  5 

Say  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor, 
Found  thee  a  way  out  of  his  wreck  to  rise  in. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition. 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels.    O  Cromwell,  Croii:well, 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king.  He  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 

Queen  Catherine  did  not  intend  to  be  lightly  put 
aside.  When  she  found  that  it  was  Henry's  inten- 
tion to  divorce  her  she  demanded  a  trial,  and  came 
before  the  king  and  the  Councillors  to  plead  her 
own  cause.  The  trial  lasted  for  two  weeks.  Then 
the  judges  rendered  the  verdict  which  declared  that 
her  marriage  was  not  and  never  had  been  legal. 
The  fact  that  this  decision  rendered  the  Princess 
Mary  illegitimate  weighed  not  a  feather  with  her 
royal  father.  Henry  had  taken  time  by  the  fore- 
lock and  had  married  Anne  Boleyn  before  the 
divorce  was  declared,  and  on  the  day  following 
he  publicly  ratified  the  marriage  by  having  her 
crowned  queen  of  England. 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that 
the  Head  of  the  Church  would  sit  quietly  and  see 
his  mandates  set  at  naught  in  this  high  and  mighty 
fashion.  One  of  two  things  was  certain.  Either 
Catherine's  marriage  was  legal  and  the  Princess 
Mary's  birth  legitimate,  or  else  Anne  Boleyn's  was, 
which  reversed  the  situation.     Thus  there  became 


G  lioijal  Women 

two  sides  to  the  question.  Henry  was  on  one  side 
and  Pope  Clement  on  the  other,  and  while  they 
quarreled  Anne  presented  her  lord  and  master  with 
a  baby  daughter,  to  whom  the  king,  in  honor  of 
his  mother,  gave  the  name  Elizabeth.  Shortly 
after  her  birth  came  the  decree  of  the  Head  of 
the  Church  which  declared  Catherine's  marriage 
legal  and  that  of  Anne  invalid.  Henry  promptly 
retaliated  by  declaring  himself  Head  of  the  Church 
in  England,  and  Pope  Clement,  who  was  having 
troubles  of  his  own  with  IMartin  Luther,  seemed 
powerless  just  then  to  prevent  Henry  from  having 
his  own  way. 

Not  a  great  while  after  this,  however,  the  king 
found  that  his  carefully  planted  garden  was  yield- 
ing him  nothing  but  thorns.  The  Green-eyed 
Monster  began  to  make  things  lively  for  him.  His 
young  queen  lost  his  affection  and  confidence  in 
the  very  same  way  in  which  she  had  gained  them. 
When  he  saw  her  making  herself  agreeable  to  every- 
body about  the  court,  Henry  promptly  lost  all 
interest  in  her.  He  treated  her  first  with  coldness, 
then  with  aversion.  The  question  of  Anne  Boleyn's 
guilt  has  been  much  discussed.  History  knows  all 
that  it  is  likely  to  know  on  that  point,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  prove  that  she  was  really  guilty.  She 
was  young,  light-hearted,   full  of  spirit,  a  little 


Anne  Boleyn,  mother  of  Queen  Elizabeth 


Elizabeth  7 

vain,  perhaps,  and  coquettish ;  but  there  is  nothing 
to  substantiate  the  accusation  that  she  was  really 
unfaithful  or  immoral.  Finally  the  king  had  her 
arrested,  charged  with  disloyalty,  not  treason,  and 
she  was  closely  confined  in  the  Tower.  She  had  tried 
in  every  way  to  conciliate  him.  She  would  find  out 
in  some  way  where  she  could  come  upon  him  alone, 
and,  carrying  the  little  Elizabeth  in  her  arms,  would 
try  by  all  the  wiles  she  was  mistress  of  to  win  a 
smile  from  him,  but  in  vain. 

Anne  protested  her  innocence.  When  they  came 
to  conduct  her  to  the  Tower,  Henry  was  saying  his 
prayers  in  his  little  private  chapel  —  not  a  bad 
occupation,  truly,  but  somewhat  absurd  under  the 
circumstances.  Anne  knew  he  was  there,  and 
when  the  guard  approached  she  ran  screaming 
through  the  corridors  to  the  chapel  and  flung 
herself  at  the  king's  feet,  begging  for  mercy.  He 
repulsed  her  coldly  and  she  was  led  away.  She 
was  condemned  and  executed,  and  as  though  that 
were  not  enough,  the  three-year-old  Elizabeth  was 
declared  illegitimate. 

Henry  did  not  waste  any  time  grieving  over  his 
troubles.  The  day  after  Anne  Boleyn  was  executed 
he  married  the  Lady  Jane  Seymour.  Perhaps  if 
she  had  lived,  the  future  conduct  of  her  willful  and 
erratic  lord  might  have  been  more  conformable  to 


8  Boyal  Women 

the  authorized  standard  of  morals  and  propriety; 
but  the  queen  died  within  the  year,  leaving  a  little 
son,  the  future  Edward  Sixth. 

The  king  had  had  sufficient  experience  by  this 
time  not  to  indulge  in  any  unseemly  grief  over  so 
small  a  matter  as  the  loss  of  a  wife.  This  time, 
however,  he  determined  to  make  a  political  mar- 
riage. He  entrusted  to  Thomas  Cromwell,  Wolsey's 
old  friend,  the  mission  of  finding  him  an  eligible 
princess.  Cromwell  turned  to  Germany.  He  got 
the  artist,  Hans  Holbein,  to  paint  the  portrait  of 
the  Duchess  Anne  of  Cleves.  That  Holbein  was  a 
great  artist  everybody  knows,  but  just  what  hap- 
pened to  him  on  this  particular  occasion  nobody 
knows.  The  portrait  pleased  Henry  immensely, 
and  without  waiting  for  a  personal  interview,  he 
demanded  her  hand  in  marriage.  But  there  was 
trouble  of  several  different  kinds  when  the  original 
of  the  painting  presented  herself.  She  was  so  ugly 
that  Henry  vowed  he  would  not  have  her  at  any 
price,  and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  he  was  persuaded  to  stick  to  the  contract. 
When  on  further  acquaintance  he  found  her  dis- 
gracefully ignorant  and  devoid  of  manners,  he 
wreaked  his  vengeance  by  having  Cromwell  be- 
headed and  demanded  of  Parliament  another 
divorce.  The  recent  marriage  was  annulled,  and 
Anne  of  Cleves  passed  out  of  history. 


Elizabeth  9 

Two  whole  weeks  went  by  before  Henry  was 
sufficiently  in  love  to  take  unto  himself  another 
wife.  This  time  it  was  Catherine  Howard,  niece 
of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  As  in  the  previous 
instance,  however,  the  king  found  that  his  choice 
had  been  made  with  more  haste  than  discretion. 
The  new  queen  was  worse  than  he  was  (and  that 
is  saying  a  good  deal),  of  character  and  conduct 
so  disgraceful  as  really  to  justify  the  course  of 
the  king  in  setting  her  aside.  Henry's  anger  did 
not  stop  with  divorce,  however.  She  was  sent  to 
the  same  fate  which  Anne  Boleyn  had  met  six 
years  before. 

Henry  was  now  ready  for  number  six.  His 
ardor  seemed  to  have  cooled  somewhat,  and  this 
time  waited,  apparently,  upon  his  judgment.  It 
was  after  much  deliberation  that  he  chose  Catherine 
Parr,  the  widow  of  Lord  Latimer.  Like  Jane  Sey- 
mour, she  was  a  woman  of  discretion  and  character, 
and  had  a  great  and  good  influence  upon  the  king. 
But  Henry  had  grown  old  and  corpulent  and  ill- 
tempered.  Nothing  pleased  him  any  more.  Finally, 
He  who  knocks  with  impartial  summons  at  the  hut 
of  the  peasant  and  the  palace  of  the  king  had  come, 
and  this  wheezing,  dropsical,  relentless  old  despot, 
who  had  sat  on  the  throne  of  England  for  thirty- 
eight  years,  expired,  leaving  some  of  his  crimes 
unfinished. 


10  Jioyal  Women 

It  would  seem  that  so  numerously-married  a  man 
ought  to  leave  plenty  of  heirs  to  his  kingdom,  but 
the  fact  is  that  of  Henry's  six  wives  three  left  him 
one  child  apiece.  The  son  of  Jane  Seymour  suc- 
ceeded him,  as  Edward  Sixth,  and  before  Henry 
died  he  added  a  codicil  to  his  will  stipulating  that 
if  Edward  died  without  heirs  (which  very  thing 
was  destined  to  occur)  although  in  his  anger  at 
their  respective  mothers  he  had  declared  both 
daughters  illegitimate,  the  crown  should  descend 
first  to  Mary  and  then  to  Elizabeth. 

Young  Edward  was  frail  both  of  body  and  mind. 
He  was  very  fond  of  his  younger  sister,  Elizabeth, 
but  he  was  angry  and  disgusted  with  Mary,  the 
older  one,  who  after  himself  was  heir  to  the  crown. 
He  wished  that  there  were  some  way  in  which  he 
might  obtain  it  for  Elizabeth,  but  he  knew  that  this 
would  mean  years  of  disturbance,  perhaps  war.  He 
suffered  keenly  in  the  thought  that  the  male  line  of 
the  Tudors  w^as  dying  with  him,  and  perhaps  it  was 
the  state  of  his  health  which  made  him  listen  the 
more  willingly  to  the  plan  suggested  by  the  most 
powerful  men  of  his  realm,  that  he  should  pass  over 
both  sisters  in  the  matter  of  the  succession.  He  did 
not  mind  setting  aside  iVIary,  but  he  knew  that 
Elizabeth,  with  her  abilit}'  and  her  almost  perfect 
education,  was  in  every  way  fitted  to  succeed  him 
and  to  reign  well  over  England. 


Eliznheih  11 

Of  all  the  tragedies  which  History  has  charged 
up  against  the  account  of  England,  none  is  greater 
or  more  pathetic  than  that  recorded  on  the  page 
which  tells  so  briefly  and  so  sadly  the  story  of  the 
Lady  Jane  Grey.  She  was  the  grand-daughter  of 
that  charming  little  minx,  Mary  Tudor,  youngest 
sister  of  Henry  Eighth.  Urged  by  the  powerful 
Lord  Dudley,  the  young  king  named  Lady  Jane  as 
his  successor.  In  vain  did  she  declare  to  the  emis- 
saries who  were  negotiating  the  affair  her  unwilling- 
ness to  enter  into  so  dangerous  and  so  treasonable 
an  enterprise.  In  vain  she  protested  against  the 
setting  aside  of  Henry's  two  daughters,  declaring, 
and  rightly,  that  their  claims  far  exceeded  her  own. 
She  was  persuaded  that  it  was  the  wish  of  the  people, 
and  from  the  seclusion  of  her  quiet  English  home 
she  was  brought  to  London  and  proclaimed  queen. 
But  no  enthusiasm  followed  the  act,  and  it  was 
evident  from  the  first  that  it  would  end  in  tragedy. 
Nine  days  only  did  she  reign.  At  the  end  of  that 
brief  time  she  was  sent  to  the  Tower.  She  was 
condemned  to  death,  but  the  horror  of  the  situation 
in  which  she  found  herself  gave  way  to  calmness 
and  fortitude.  She  knew  that  it  was  due  to  no 
fault  of  her  own.  Guilty  in  no  degree  of  treason, 
she  died  —  a  martyr  to  a  scheming  man's  ambition, 
a  most  pathetic  victim  of  circumstances. 

This  episode  passed  into  history,  and  then  fol- 


12  lloyal  Women 

lowed  the  five  years'  reign  of  jMary  Tudor,  one  of 
the  most  distressing  periods  in  England's  national 
life.  Sometimes  we  hear  expressions  of  wonder 
that  Mary  was  so  ardent  a  Catholic  and  Elizabeth 
so  staunch  a  Protestant.  It  needs  only  a  glance 
at  the  circumstances  to  make  plain  why  this  was  so. 
For  Mary  to  deny  the  Catholic  religion  would  be 
for  her  virtually  to  admit  that  her  mother's  mar- 
riage was  illegal  and  she  herself  illegitimate,  since 
the  Holy  Father  had  been  the  only  one  who  had 
upheld  her  mother's  cause.  The  same,  only  the 
reverse,  was  the  case  with  Elizabeth.  How  could 
she  support  Catholicism  w'hen  the  Head  of  the 
Church  had  declared  her  mother's  marriage  invalid 
and  herself  of  ignoble  birth.'*  Mary  was  a  Catholic 
of  necessity.  Elizabeth  was  a  Protestant  for  the 
same  reason. 

Mary  had  Inherited  from  her  mother,  Catherine 
of  Aragon,  a  reserved  and  haughty  disposition, 
tempered  with  none  of  her  father's  lightness.  The 
effect  of  adversity  upon  her  mind  had  been  to 
harden  and  embitter.  She  looked  back  over  her 
father's  and  her  brother's  reigns  and  thought  she 
had  been  made  to  endure  a  great  deal  on  account 
of  her  faith.  So  she  had  no  other  thought  than  to 
retaliate.  She  conceived  the  idea  that  the  way  to 
be  rid  of  her  enemies  was  to  exterminate  them,  and 
during  the  five  years  of  her  reign  England  reeked 


Elizabeth  13 

with  blood.  She,  to  whose  name  History  has  pre- 
fixed a  terrible  adjective  —  bloody  —  was  one  of 
the  most  unhappy  of  women,  and  her  unhappiness 
was  largely  within  herself. 

Elizabeth  was  the  daughter  of  Anne  Boleyn.  She 
first  saw  the  light  through  the  leaded  windows  of 
old  Greenwich  Palace,  on  the  seventh  day  of  Sep- 
tember, 1534.  Her  birth  is  very  quaintly  recorded 
by  the  contemporary  historian,  Hall,  who  says: 
"  The  next  daye,  being  Sundaye,  between  three 
and  four  o'clock  in  the  after-noon,  the  Queene  was 
delivered  of  a  faire  ladye,  on  which  daye  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk  came  home  to  the  christening." 

Notwithstanding  the  disappointment  which  the 
king  felt  (and  showed)  over  the  fact  that  the  child 
was  a  girl,  great  preparations  were  made  for  the 
christening  which  took  place  three  days  later  at 
the  Convent  of  the  Grey  Friars.  The  Lord  Mayor, 
the  Aldennen,  and  Council  of  the  city  of  London 
got  into  the  boats  and  were  rowed  down  the  Thames 
to  Greenwich,  where  all  the  lords  and  knights  and 
gentlemen  were  assembled.  They  proceeded  to  the 
church,  irk  the  centre  of  which  was  the  font  of 
silver  over  which  was  a  canopy  of  crimson  satin 
fringed  with  gold.  Between  the  choir  and  the 
chancel  was  a  closet  in  which  a  fire  had  been  built, 
lest  the  royal  babe  should  take  cold  when  disrobed. 
The  procession  formed  at  the  palace  and  walked  to 


14  Boy  at  Women 

tlic  church.  At  the  end  of  the  long  Hne  came  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  Elizabeth's  great- 
grandmother,  carrjnng  the  babe  In  her  anus.  The 
child  was  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  purple  velvet, 
with  a  long  train  which  was  carried  by  the  Countess 
of  Kent.  The  Bishop  of  London  received  the 
babe  at  the  door,  and  with  all  the  rites  and  ceremo- 
nies of  the  Catholic  Church  the  future  Protestant 
queen  was  christened  and  given  the  name  of  her 
father's  mother,  Elizabeth  of  York.  Then  fol- 
lowed the  proclamation  of  the  court  crier :  "  God 
of  His  infinite  goodness  and  mercy  send  a  prosper- 
ous life  and  long  to  the  High  and  Mighty  Princess 
Elizabeth  of  England ! " 

Elizabeth  spent  most  of  her  girlhood,  at  least 
while  her  father  lived,  at  Hatfield  House,  one  of 
the  royal  residences,  with  her  brother  Edward, 
under  the   care   of  a  governess.*     "VAHien   Henry 

•  To  some  old  gossip  conncctpd  with  this  period  of  Elizabeth's 
life  is  due  the  agitation  which  every  now  and  then  is  wrought 
as  to  whether  or  not  she  was  really  a  woman.  There  is  an  old 
story  to  the  effect  that  the  real  princess  died  in  early  child- 
hood,—  that  the  attendants  feared  to  inform  the  king,  and  that 
while  they  were  discussing  the  matter,  Henry  suddenly  appeared 
to  visit  his  little  daughter  and  the  only  available  child  to  sub- 
stitute in  her  place  was  a  boy.  It  is  held  that  it  was  never 
thereafter  possible  to  undeceive  the  king  —  that  the  boy  lived 
and  reigned  as  Kngland's  queen,  and  that  this  explains  why 
Elizabeth  would  never  consider  any  proposal  of  marriage.  There 
are  many  Englishmen  who  credit  the  story,  among  them  Mr. 
Brani  Stroker,  for  so  many  years  the  frii-nd  and  manager  of 
Sir  Iffnry  Irving.  Sir  Henry  certainly  knew  English  history,  if 
anyone  did,  and  portrayed  it  faithfully.  There  is  some  little 
evidence  to  support  the  theory,  but  on  the  whole,  taking  into 
consideration  the  most  important  events  of  her  career,  it  would 
take  a  most  elastic  imagination  to  accept  it  as  truth. 


Elizabeth  15 

died,  however,  she  went  to  live  with  the  queen 
dowager,  Catherine  Parr.  A  few  weeks  after  the 
king's  death,  the  latter  married  an  old  lover. 
Admiral  Lord  Seymour,  and  the  Admiral  seemed  to 
find  the  young  step-daughter  of  his  wife  much 
more  to  his  liking  than  the  lady  herself.  Here  it 
was  that  Elizabeth  learned  her  first  lesson  in  the 
exercise  of  her  powers  of  fascination.  That  she 
became,  later,  absolute  mistress  of  the  art  is  a 
matter  of  history. 

Catherine  died,  and  Seymour  at  once  formed  the 
ambitious  plan  of  wedding  Elizabeth.  But  she 
would  have  none  of  him  after  his  wife's  death,  and 
his  schemes  to  carry  out  his  plan  brought  his  head 
speedily  under  the  ax  of  the  executioner.  When 
Elizabeth  heard  of  his  death  she  remarked,  "  This 
day  died  a  man  of  much  wit  and  very  little  judg- 
ment." 

She  had  been  only  flirting  with  a  man  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,  just  as  in  after  years  she  used  her 
wiles  to  attract  men  young  enough  to  be  her  sons. 

Elizabeth's  character  was  full  of  contradictions. 
She  inherited  from  her  grandfather,  Henry  Sev- 
enth, caution  and  prudence.  From  her  father, 
Henry  Eighth,  she  got  her  royal  imperiousness 
and  her  personal  charm.  From  her  mother  came 
her  vanity  and  self-love  —  the  true  marks  of  the 
coquette  —  and  her  quick  temper.     It  was  told  of 


Hi  Royal  Women 

her  that  once,  late  in  her  hfc,  her  wrath  burst  forth 
upon  some  gentleman  of  her  court,  and  finding 
later  that  she  had  been  mistaken,  she  made  him  a 
gracious  apology,  ending  with  these  words :  "  Well, 
well.  The  blood  of  the  Boleyns  was  alwa^^s  hot, 
and  I  doubt  me  if  it  cooled  it  any  to  mix  it  with  the 
Tudors ! " 

Elizabeth  was  sixteen  at  the  time  of  her  escapade 
with  Seymour.  When  she  was  twent}^  her  brother 
Edward,  the  king,  died.  She  was  at  Hatfield  House 
when  the  news  was  brought  her  that  the  king  was 
dead  and  that  he  had  named  Lady  Jane  Grey  as 
his  successor.  She  gave  illustration  of  her  own 
characteristics  as  well  as  an  illustration  of  the  differ- 
ence between  herself  and  her  sister  Mary  at  this 
time.  When  it  was  known  that  the  king  was  dying, 
decoy  letters  had  been  sent  to  both  sisters  saying 
that  the  king  was  ill  and  would  see  them.  Elizabeth 
was  too  wary  to  be  caught  napping  in  that  fashion. 
She  paid  no  attention  to  hers,  -but  Mary  started  to 
London,  and  almost  lost  her  life  as  the  consequence. 
The  messenger  who  brought  Elizabeth  news  of  the 
king's  death  offered  her  large  grants  of  land  and 
money  if  she  would  sign  away  her  rights  to  the 
crown.  She  replied  craftily,  "  So  long  as  my 
sister  Mary  lives  I  have  no  rights  to  renounce." 
After  the  brief  reign  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  ]\Iary 
was  proclaimed  queen.     Elizabeth  hastened  to  con- 


Elizabeth  17 

gratulatc  her,  and  rode  by  her  side  Avhen  she  made 
her  formal  entry  into  London.  Not  many  girls  of 
twenty  would  have  been  capable  of  such  procedure. 

Elizabeth's  life  during  her  sister's  reign  was  one 
of  extreme  peril.  A  single  misstep  would  have 
been  fatal  to  her.  The  years  had  not  improved 
IMary.  She  was  twice  her  sister's  age,  and  jealous 
to  a  degree.  She  was  the  unfortunate  possessor  of 
a  morbid  temperament  which  forever  preyed  upon 
itself.  She  was  deeply  in  love  with  her  handsome 
husband,  Philip  of  Spain,  but  he  neglected  and 
despised  her.  She  had  no  children  to  succeed  her. 
At  last,  to  crown  her  sorrows,  the  Duke  of  Guise 
captured  Calais,  the  last  of  the  English  possessions 
in  France,  and  Mary  never  recovered  from  this 
blow,  which  she  felt  to  be  a  stain  upon  the  national 
honor.  She  felt  it  so  keenly  that  she  said  to  one 
of  her  ministers,  "  If  after  I  am  dead  you  will 
open  my  heart  you  will  find  Calais  written  there." 

So  these  were  critical  times  for  Elizabeth.  The 
Spanish  Ambassador  demanded  her  execution  as  a 
condition  of  Mary's  marriage  to  Philip.  Mary's 
answer  is  on  record  —  she  would  try  to  satisfy  him 
in  this  particular.  But  she  found  herself  less  power- 
ful than  her  father  had  been.  She  had  to  reckon 
with  her  Council,  and  in  it  strong  and  peremptory 
language  began  to  be  heard.  Mary  desired  above 
all  else  that  Elizabeth  should  embrace  the  Catholic 


18  Royal  Women 

religion.  She  recognized  that  EHzabeth  was  the 
next  heir,  and,  naturally,  wished  to  see  the  church 
continued  after  she  was  gone.  She  sent  for  Eliza- 
beth to  come  to  London,  When  she  came  she 
refused  to  see  her  and  kept  her  strictly  guarded 
in  a  distant  wing  of  the  palace.  They  had  but  one 
interview.  This  took  place  late  at  night,  and  Philip 
was  concealed  behind  the  curtains  to  hear  her  replies. 
Mary  asked  her  promise  to  attend  the  mass  at  least. 
Elizabeth  was  cautious  in  the  extreme,  but  her  reply 
contained  no  promise.  After  this  her  fate  was  the 
subject  of  much  discussion  at  the  Council  table.  At 
last  she  was  summoned  to  appear  before  them  and 
declare  herself,  and  when  asked  to  state  her  belief 
as  to  the  real  presence  of  the  Saviour  at  the  Sacra- 
ment of  the  Holy  Communion,  she  made  her  now 
famous  reply : 

Christ  was  the  -word  that  spake  it ; 
He  took  the  bread  and  brake  it; 
And  what  His  words  did  make  it, 
That  I  believe  and  take  it. 

Her  reply  silenced  the  queen  and  the  Council 
forever.  Never  again  did  either  attempt  to  question 
her  as  to  her  belief.  Neither  Catholic  nor  Protestant 
can  impugn  the  orthodoxy  of  her  explanation  of  the 
sublimest  mystery  of  our  Christian  faith. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  and  against  the  strong 


Elizabeth  19 

protest  of  some  of  the  lords,  Elizabeth  was  con- 
fined in  the  Tower.  Two  of  the  Council  were 
appointed  to  conduct  her  thither.  One  of  them 
was  the  Earl  of  Sussex.  He  was  indignant  and 
disgusted  beyond  measure  when  his  companion 
began  giving  instructions  as  to  her  safe-keeping 
and  suggesting  measures  of  unnecessary  rigor,  and 
he  said  to  him : 

"  Take  heed,  milord,  that  you  go  not  beyond 
your  commission.  She  is  our  king's  daughter  and, 
as  you  well  know,  the  next  of  blood.  Therefore 
deal  with  her  now  that  you  may  not  have  to  answer, 
if  it  so  happen,  for  your  dealings  hereafter." 

When  they  conducted  her  to  the  inner  gate, 
instead  of  passing  through  it,  she  sat  down  on  the 
cold,  damp  stone,  with  the  evident  intention  of  not 
entering  that  prison  which  had  proved  so  fatal  to 
her  race.    The  officer  of  the  guard  said  to  her : 

"  Madame,  you  had  best  come  in  out  of  the  rain. 
In  truth,  you  sit  unwholesomely  there." 

"  Better  here  than  in  a  worse  place,"  she  an- 
swered; "for  God  knows,  not  I,  whither  you 
bring  me." 

The  officer  was  an  old,  white-haired  man.  He 
had  seen  many  of  the  tragedies  of  the  Tower ;  but 
when  he  saw  this  fair  young  girl,  who  would,  he 
had  every  reason  to  believe,  meet  the  same  fate  as 
her  mother,  he  burst  into  tears.    When  Elizabeth 


20  lioyal  Women 

saw  this  slie  promptly  arose  and  followed  him, 
telling  him  not  to  weep — that  knowing  her  to  be 
innocent,  he  ought  to  sustain  and  comfort  rather 
than  to  discourage  her. 

Medieval  London  was  in  its  prime  at  this  time. 
Wherever  there  is  a  city  of  historic  interest,  there 
is,  also,  in  almost  every  instance,  a  river  of  equal 
historic  interest.  Especially  is  this  true  of  London. 
During  the  early  years  of  its  existence  it  was  always 
known  as  London-on-Thames.  When  we  recall  the 
history  of  England  it  takes  but  little  imagination 
to  picture  some  of  the  scenes  which  have  been 
reflected  in  the  silver  waters  of  the  river  which 
flows  by  London  —  the  gorgeous  pageants  which 
have  passed  over  its  surface,  "with  youth  at  the 
prow  and  pleasure  at  the  helm."  The  Thames  has 
been  called  The  Silent  Highway  of  England.  How 
often  must  it  have  reechoed  joyous  shouts  and 
merriment !  How  many  the  royal  barges  which 
have  floated  down  it  bearing  merry  parties  from 
Greenwich  to  the  Tower,  from  Westminster  and 
Whitehall  to  Richmond,  Hampton  Court,  and 
Windsor!  How  many,  alas,  the  sad  and  silent 
craft  conveying  state  prisoners  from  their  trials 
to  their  last  prison  and  landing  them  at  the  wet 
steps  of  the  Traitors'  Gate !  The  river  has  had  its 
shadows  and  its  brilliant  lights,  and  doubtless  many 


The  Tower  of  London 


Traitors'  (iate 


Elizabeth  21 

a  state  secret  lies  securely  locked  in  its  silent  bosom. 
Like  the  Rhine  and  the  Seine  and  the  Danube,  the 
Thames  has  inspired  many  an  artist  and  poet  to 
noble  effort. 

For  more  than  eight  centuries  there  stood  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames  an  old  Roman  fortification 
which  later  became  the  Tower  of  London.  What 
volumes  of  English  history  are  bound  up  in  the 
London  Tower!  It  has  been  successively  a  fort- 
ress, a  palace,  and  a  prison.  While  it  existed  long 
before  the  Norman  conquest,  and  its  construction 
doubtless  took  many  years  to  complete,  it  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  finished  about  1090,  in  the 
reign  of  William  Rufus,  the  second  son  of  William 
the  Conqueror.  In  the  medieval  days  it  was 
regarded  as  impregnable,  capable  of  withstanding 
any  sort  of  attack.  One  thinks  he  is  living  in  those 
days  again  when  he  visits  the  London  Tower. 
Visitors  are  allowed  after  five  o'clock  only  by  per- 
mission, and  the  permission  is  well  worth  obtaining. 
It  is  at  night  that  the  Tower  is  of  greatest  interest. 
Then  it  is  still  the  medieval  fortress.  The  ancient 
ceremony  of  locking  the  gates  still  takes  place. 
After  this  is  done,  if  you  have  permission,  you  may 
enter,  giving  the  password,  which  is  changed  each 
day.  The  guard  is  changed,  the  keys  delivered  to 
the  Lord  Mayor  of  London.    It  is  all  of  absorbing 


22  Royal  Women 

interest.  One  forgets  the  twentieth  century  civiliza- 
tion in  such  places  as  this  where  the  ancient  customs 
still  obtain. 

From  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror  to  the 
reign  of  Charles  Second  most  of  the  kings  used  the 
Tower  as  the  royal  residence.  Many  of  the  royal 
children  were  born  there.  Now,  however,  we  think 
of  it  only  as  the  great  state  prison  of  one  of  the 
most  powerful  nations  on  the  earth.  In  it  have 
been  confined  some  of  the  noblest  of  English  men 
and  women,  as  well  as  many  others  who  doubtless 
richly  deserved  their  fate.  To  most  of  those  who 
went  there  it  was  merely  the  threshold  of  the 
scaffold. 

There  were  two  places  of  execution  connected 
with  the  Tower.  One  Avas  within  the  walls  and  was 
known  as  the  Tower  Green.  The  other  was  without 
and  was  called  Tower  Hill.  The  Tower  Green  is  a 
spot  of  hallowed  memories  in  English  history.  Only 
a  few  years  ago,  by  command  of  Queen  A'ictoria,  it 
was  marked  off  and  railed  in.  Here,  in  1483,  Lord 
Hastings  met  his  death,  as  did  afterwards  Anne 
Boleyn,  Margaret  Pole,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  the  Lady  Jane  Grey,  Katherine  Howard, 
Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex,  and  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  all  but  two  of  whom  were  intimately 
connected  with  the  story  of  Elizabeth  of  England. 

One  can  scarcely  think  of  historic  London  with- 


Elizabeth  23 

out  mention  of  the  London  Bridge,  where,  according 
to  the  old  song: 

Proud  and  lowly,  beggar  and  lord, 

Over  the  bridge  they  go! 
Eags  and  velvet,  fetters  and  sword, 

Poverty,  pomp,  and  woe! 
Laughing,  weeping,  hurrying  ever. 

Hour  by  hour  they  flit  along ; 
While  below  the  mighty  river 

Sings  them  all  a  mocking  song : 

Hurry  along  !    Sorrow  and  song  ! 

All  is  vanity  under  the  sun! 
Velvet  and  rags!    So  the  world  wags, 

Till  the  river  no  more  shall  run! 

But,  like  the  river,  like  everything  else  in  life, 
historical  periods  glide  in,  run  their  course,  and 
either  take  new  form  or  fade  away.  No  wonder 
that  Elizabeth,  when  she  remembered  all  that  had 
been,  cried  out  when  she  was  compelled  to  enter  the 
Tower  through  the  Traitors'  Gate,  "  Here  landeth 
as  true  a  subject,  being  prisoner,  as  ever  trod  these 
stairs.  To  Thee,  O  God,  I  speak  it,  having  no 
friend  but  Thee ! " 

She  was  released  from  the  Tower,  at  last,  and 
conveyed  to  Woodstock,  one  of  the  royal  residences 
which  has  been  long  since  demolished.  There  was 
an  episode  in  connection  with  her  stay  at  Wood- 
stock which  Is  worth  the  telling.  She  was  strictly 
guarded  at  all  times,  and  the  guard  was  in  charge 


24  lioyal  Women 

of  Sir  Henry  Bcdingficld,  who  was  most  assiduous 
in  enforcing  the  strictest  rules  upon  her.  After  she 
became  queen,  carrying  out  her  determination  not 
to  employ  her  sister  ]\lary's  tactics  by  punishing 
her  enemies,  she  sent  one  day  for  Sir  Henry.  He 
obeyed  the  summons  with  fear  and  trembling,  but 
when  he  presented  himself  he  was  told  that  he 
might  keep  his  rank  and  titles,  his  lands,  and  his 
money,  but  that  whenever  she  had  a  prisoner  whom 
she  wished  particularly  zvell  guarded  he  could  rest 
assured  that  she  would  send  for  him ! 

It  is  said  that  all  things  come  to  him  who  waits. 
It  was  so  with  Elizabeth.  Tortured  bodily  and 
mentally,  Mary  was  dying,  childless.  She  made  of 
Elizabeth  three  requests  before  her  death  —  first, 
that  she  would  retain  and  be  good  to  her  servants ; 
second,  that  she  would  pay  all  sums  of  money  owed 
privately  by  her;  third,  that  she  would  continue 
the  church  as  she  had  established  it  in  England. 
Elizabeth  was  to  be  notified  of  her  sister's  death 
by  the  sending  of  a  little  black-enameled  ring  which 
Mary  always  wore;  but  before  the  messenger  with 
the  ring  arrived,  a  great  deputation  of  nobles 
waited  upon  her  and  hailed  her  Queen  of  England. 
She  replied  to  their  demonstration  with  a  line  from 
the  Scriptures:  "This  is  the  Lord's  doing;  it  is 
marvelous  in  our  eyes." 


Elizabeth  25 

Elizabeth  was  now  twenty-five.  She  was  tall  and 
graceful  and  beautiful.  She  was  in  every  way 
fitted  by  education  to  fill  and  grace  her  high  posi- 
tion. The  Tudors  were  always  fond  of  learning, 
but  she  surpassed  them  all.  She  spoke  Latin  and 
Greek  not  only  well  but  fluently.  Her  love  of 
classical  culture  lasted  to  the  end  of  her  days. 
Amid  the  cares  of  her  later  years  we  find,  in  Roger 
Ascham's  diary,  this:  "After  dinner  I  went  up  to 
read  with  the  Queen's  Majesty  that  noble  oration 
of  Demosthenes  against  Aeschines."  In  another 
instance  it  is  recorded  that  she  used  her  Latin  to 
rebuke  the  insolence  of  the  Polish  Ambassador. 
She  spoke  French  and  Italian  as  readily  as  her 
mother  tongue,  and  her  handwriting  was  truly 
beautiful.  Old  letters  of  hers  which  have  been 
preserved  look  like  the  finest  engraving.  During 
the  reigns  of  her  brother  and  sister  she  had  applied 
herself  diligently  to  her  studies,  and  in  addition 
to  her  qualifications  in  this  line,  she  was  politic  to 
a  degree.  Whether  she  was  born  with  or  acquired 
this  latter  characteristic  matters  not.  Perhaps  the 
greatest  gift  which  Nature  gave  her  was  the  ability 
to  decide  quickly  and  correctly  the  problems  she 
had  to  meet. 

The  times  were  stormy  in  England  when  Eliza- 
beth came  to  the  throne.    The  signs  were  hard  to 


20  Royal  Women 

read.  None  knew  this  better  than  she,  and  it  was 
due  to  her  sagacity  that  her  coronation  was  of  the 
simplest  character.* 

Someone  has  seen  fit  to  utter  the  accusation  that 
no  matter  how  high  a  station  in  hfe  woman  may 
reach,  no  one  of  them  has  ever  yet  been  able  to 
eliminate  the  "  eternal  feminine."  Elizabeth's  con- 
duct on  this  occasion  justified  the  remark  to  a  cer- 
tain extent.  When  she  had  been  anointed  with  oil 
by  the  Bishop,  she  promptly  retired  behind  a  screen 
to  change  her  gown,  saying  to  her  ladies  in  attend- 
ance, "  Trul}',  that  oil  is  grease  and  smells  ill ! " 

When  a  few  years  of  her  reign  had  gone  by,  the 
minds  of  her  ministers  and  advisers  became  exer- 
cised about  the  succession.  It  was  naturally  sup- 
posed  that   the    Queen    would   marry    and   in    the 

*  Only  one  bishop  officiated.  She  handed  him  a  book  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  multitude  requested  him  to  read  the  Gospel  and 
the  Epistle  in  tTnglish.  This  was  done.  Then  the  mass  was  said  in 
Latin,  accordinir  to  the  ancient  custom.  The  coronation  of  Elizabeth 
took  place  on  Sunday,  January  15,  1559,  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
The  one  bishop  who  officiated  was  Bishop  Oglethorpe.  One  of 
the  most  interesting  moments  of  the  coronation  was  then  (and 
is  now)  the  presentation  of  the  glove.  First,  the  ring  Is  placed 
on  the  sovereign's  hand,  and  immediately  after,  some  one  of  the 
lords  (the  position  being  hereditary  in  his  family)  presents  the 
king  or  queen,  as  the  case  may  be,  with  a  richly  embroidered 
glove.  The  peer  who  has  the  honor  of  presenting  the  glove  wears 
the  title  Lord  of  the  Manor.  This  is  one  of  the  few  picturesque 
feudal  ceremonies  still  retained  in  the  coronation  of  the  English 
kings  and  queens.  It  dates  back  to  the  Middle  Ages.  The  first 
Lord  of  the  Manor  was  a  member  of  the  Turnivell  family  of 
Buckinghamshire.  At  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  when  the 
monasteries  were  dissolved,  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  held  the 
office,  but  he  exchanged  it  to  Henry  VIII  for  other  privileges. 
Now  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  is  Lord  of  the  Manor,  and  the  present 
duke  had  the  honor  of  presenting  the  glove  to  George  V  whea 
he  was  crowned  in  1911. 


Elkabeth  27 

ordinary  course  of  events  present  the  nation  with 
an  heir.  As  she  showed  no  disposition  to  wed,  she 
was  waited  upon  by  a  deputation  from  Parhament 
and  urged  to  choose  for  herself  a  husband.  There- 
upon she  hurled  the  thunderbolt.  She  declared  her 
intention  to  live  and  die  a  virgin  queen.  Neither 
Parliament  nor  the  people  could  understand  why 
she  would  not  marry,  yet  that  she  was  moved  by 
many  motives  to  remain  single  is  unquestionable. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  her  adventure  with  Sey- 
mour, although  that  was  now  ancient  history,  had 
taught  her  one  thing,  and  that,  having  learned  it 
well  in  her  youth,  she  forgot  It  not  in  her  age. 
That  was  how  great  a  part  selfish  ambition  was 
bound  to  play  in  any  project  which  concerned  her 
marriage.  She  learned  then  and  there  that  it  was 
the  crown  she  would  wear,  the  crown  which  would 
be  hers  in  her  own  right  because  she  was  her  father's 
daughter,  to  gain  which  she  did  not  have  to  make 
a  marriage  distasteful  to  her,  or  any  marriage  at 
all  for  that  matter,  was  the  candle  around  which 
all  the  moths  in  Europe  would  flutter.  The  fact 
that  she  was  a  princess  of  the  blood,  a  young, 
beautiful,  well-educated,  and  accomplished  woman, 
would  play  a  small  and  secondary  part.  Moreover, 
her  sister  Mary's  marital  unhappiness  had  made  a 
great  impression  upon  her,  to  say  nothing  of  her 
erratic  father's  exploits  matrimonial.     There  is  no 


28  Royal  Women 

doubt  that  Elizabeth  determined  not  to  wed  wliile 
she  was  still  a  3'oung  girl,  and  because  she  became 
convinced  that  love  might  be  for  the  village  maiden, 
but  not  for  the  heiress  to  the  crown  of  Merrie 
England.  Certain  it  is  that  after  she  came  to  the 
throne  she  never  allowed  her  heart  to  speak.  If  her 
senses  did,  she  had  them  well  under  control. 

All  English  men,  of  course,  were  subjects.  This 
may  have  explained  why  she  declined  to  wed  a  man 
of  her  own  country.  But  when  the  suitors  were 
of  ro^-al  blood  and  boasted  pedigrees  to  which  no 
Tudor  ever  pretended,  when  they  were  kings  in 
their  own  right  or  heirs-apparent  to  distinguished 
crowns,  the  foreign  suitors  who  came  over  to  Eng- 
land to  woo  the  fickle  daughter  of  Anne  Boleyn, 
wh}^  did  she  refuse  these,  the  most  eligible  all 
Europe  could  produce  ?  No  answer  unless  it  be  the 
old  one.  If  she  could  not  be  loved  as  a  woman  she 
Avould  not  be  loved  as  a  queen.  Not  otherwise  can 
her  actions  be  explained.  Perhaps  she  had  a  desire 
to  get  out  of  life  all  there  was  in  it.  At  any  rate, 
as  soon  as  she  came  to  the  throne  she  began  that 
long  series  of  personal  conquests  which  covered  a 
period  of  more  than  forty  years.  Her  coquetry 
with  her  admirers  and  lovers  is  a  matter  of  history. 

At  the  time  of  her  confinement  in  the  Tower  it 
was  full  of  political  prisoners,  and  among  them 
was   a   man   whose   name   was   forever  afterwards 


Elizabeth  29 

linked  with  her  own  —  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester.  There  was  a  peculiar  coincidence  in 
connection  with  these  two.  They  were  born  not 
only  on  the  same  day,  but  at  the  very  same  hour. 
They  had  been  playmates  in  childhood,  and  Dudley, 
in  his  Memoires,  said  that  he  had  known  the  queen 
intimately  since  her  eighth  year.  Whether  anyone 
ever  knew  Elizabeth  intimately  or  not  is  a  question, 
but  if  anyone  did  it  was  doubtless  Dudley.  It  is 
thought  by  many  that  notwithstanding  the  caution 
of  the  jailors  some  sort  of  secret  understanding  was 
established  between  them  while  they  were  in  the 
Tower,  for  in  less  than  a  week  after  she  became 
queen  she  bestowed  a  signal  favor  upon  him.  She 
made  him  her  Master  of  Horse  and  loaded  him 
with  honors.  It  would  seem  that  this  act  must  have 
originated  from  some  powerful  motive  which  does 
not  appear  upon  the  surface  of  history. 

There  are  those  who  contend  that  for  Dudley 
Elizabeth  held  the  only  genuine  affection  she  ever 
knew,  but  in  the  light  of  after  events  this  cannot 
be  accepted  as  a  fact.  She  would  not  have  married 
him  under  any  circumstances.  In  the  first  place, 
Dudley  was  looked  upon  by  the  peers  as  an  upstart. 
The  first  Dudley  had  been  beheaded  by  Elizabeth's 
father,  the  second  one  by  her  sister  Mary.  Was 
Her  Majesty,  then,  likely  to  bestow  herself  upon  a 
member  of  such  a  house.''     Moreover,  the  Earl  of 


30  Royal  Women 

Leicester  was  a  man  of  courts.  He  was  good- 
looking.  His  eyes  were  fine,  his  features  good. 
He  was  tall  and  straight  and  graceful.  He  sang 
well,  danced  well,  played  well,  but  in  qualities  of 
the  nobler  order  he  was  poor.  True  faith,  pure 
heart,  loyal  words  were  not  among  his  gifts.  Wise 
or  witty  speech  never  passed  his  lips.  Good  counsel 
was  beyond  him.  Elizabeth  was  doubtless  fond  of 
the  sparkling  creature.  She  allowed  him  much  of 
her  society,  but  let  no  one  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  she  was  blind  to  his  faults. 

The  queen  was  passionately  fond  of  admiration. 
She  would  lure  a  man  on  by  smiles  and  promises, 
only  to  dismiss  him  coldly  as  soon  as  he  declared 
himself.  When  once  she  had  a  man  desperately  in 
love  with  her,  she  left  him  to  go  on  loving  her, 
while  she  turned  her  attention  to  newer  and  more 
attractive  fields.  If  one  of  the  men  with  whom 
she  played  saw  fit  to  marry,  she  promptly  fell  into 
a  fit  of  temper  which  made  life  miserable  for  all 
around  her — and  it  was  so  with  Dudley.  Unbeknown 
to  her  he  wooed  and  won  the  beautiful  Amy 
Robsart.  He  kept  his  marriage  secret  as  long  as 
he  could,  and  Elizabeth  had  the  usual  fit  of  wrath 
wlien  she  found  that  he  had  deceived  her.  Even 
after  Lady  Leicester's  tragic  death,  when  England 
would  have  been  glad  to  see  her  wed  even  a  subject, 
she  showed  Dudley   no   more   favor  than  before. 


Elizabeth  31 

However,  the  most  famous  of  all  the  royal  visits 
which  Elizabeth  made  during  her  reign  were  those 
to  Kenilworth  Castle.  How  merciless  a  monarch 
Time  is !  Ruined  arches,  fallen  walls,  mute  remind- 
ers of  the  olden  glory,  are  all  that  remain  of  Lord 
Leicester's  once-splendid  castle,  the  floors  of  which 
covered  seven  acres,  through  the  halls  and  corridors 
of  which  the  daughter  of  Henry  Eighth  and  her 
courtiers  used  to  walk  in  the  days  that  are  gone. 

To  the  suitors,  crowned  and  uncrowned,  who 
sought  a  share  in  Elizabeth's  heart,  a  seat  on  her 
throne,  she  listened  and  smiled  and  replied  in  soft, 
postponing  words.  Until  the  wars  with  France  and 
Scotland  kindled  by  her  sister's  policy  died  out, 
she  dared  not  do  otherwise.  She  looked  upon 
France  and  Scotland  as  natural  allies.  With  them 
she  longed  for  peace.  With  Spain  and  Rome  she 
saw  no  signs  of  peace.  With  these  she  knew  she 
must  fight  and  win.  One  reason  for  this  was  that 
her  sister's  widowed  husband,  Philip  of  Spain,  was 
on  her  list  of  suitors.  But  she  knew  him  too  well. 
He  wrote  to  the  Spanish  Ambassador  who  was 
representing  him :  "  Throw  all  the  obstacles  pos- 
sible in  the  way  of  her  marrying  a  subject.  Give 
her  some  crumbs  of  hope.  Of  course,  she  must  not 
expect  me  to  stay  with  her.  I  wish  to  live  else- 
where.    Show  her  these  conditions." 

He  did.     Elizabeth  promptly  disposed  of  both 


32  Royal  Women 

the  conditions  and  their  instigator,  much  to  Pliihp's 
chagrin.  It  was  England  he  wished,  not  England's 
queen.  He  determined  that  what  he  could  not 
obtain  by  marriage  he  would  get  by  force.  So  he 
fitted  out  a  fleet,  the  Invincible  Armada,  and  sent  it 
forth  for  the  humiliation  of  the  woman  who  had 
scorned  him.  Here,  again,  his  plan  failed.  When 
the  Armada  arrived  off  the  coast,  the  English  fleet 
under  Sir  Francis  Drake  was  waiting.  The  battle 
was  begun,  but  Providence  took  it  out  of  the  hands 
of  men.  A  terrible  hurricane  arose.  The  Spanish 
vessels,  not  built  to  withstand  such  a  tempest,  were 
battered  to  pieces  in  the  gale,  and  the  Invincible 
Armada,  what  little  was  left  of  it,  skulked  home  to 
Spain. 

Neither  Parliament  nor  the  people  were  willing 
to  relinquish  the  hope  that  the  queen  would  wed. 
Still  they  urged  her.  One  day  the  old  Puritan 
preacher.  Whitehead,  spoke  to  her  of  the  common 
sentiment.    With  her  usual  flattery  she  replied : 

"Why,  truly.  Whitehead,  I  like  thee  all  the 
better  that  thou  remaincst  unmarried." 

The  bluff  old  Puritan  looked  her  straight  in  the 
face  and  answered:  "And  in  truth,  Madame,  I  like 
thee  all  the  worse  for  the  same  reason ! " 

While  Elizabeth  ruled  in  England,  affairs  in 
I*' ranee  were  in  charge  of  that  inexplicable  crea- 


Elizabeth  33 

ture,  Catherine  di  Medicis.  She  was  holding  the 
throne  for  her  young  son  and  having  much  her 
own  way  in  the  process.  A  matrimonial  alliance 
between  France  and  England  was  too  brilliant  a 
chimera  to  be  hastily  abandoned.  So  this  restless 
intriguante  empowered  the  French  Ambassador  to 
propose  a  marriage  between  the  maiden  queen  of 
England  and  her  eldest  son,  the  young  king  of 
France.  Elizabeth  expressed  her  appreciation  of 
the  honor  offered  her  in  the  shape  of  a  husband 
almost  young  enough  to  be  her  son,  but  declined 
the  offer,  for  obvious  reasons.  She  usually  man- 
aged to  make  her  foreign  suitors  the  laughing-stock 
of  every  boudoir  and  embassy  in  Europe. 

In  the  long  list  of  Elizabeth's  lovers,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  must  not  be  forgotten.  The  story  is  that 
one  day  when  the  queen  walked  through  the  grounds 
at  Windsor  she  came  suddenly  upon  a  handsome 
3'oung  man  who,  seeing  that  between  himself  and 
Her  Majesty  was  a  wet  and  muddy  spot  of  ground, 
threw  off  his  crimson  velvet  cloak  and  laid  it  down 
that  she  might  not  wet  her  feet.  His  gallantry 
was  rewarded  by  a  command  to  appear  at  Court, 
and  while  waiting  to  be  admitted  he  is  said  to  have 
scratched  upon  the  window-pane  in  the  royal  ante- 
room these  words :  "  Fain  would  I  climb  but  that  I 
fear  to  fall." 


34>  Royal  Women 

The  next  day  Elizabeth  is  said  to  have  dis- 
covered the  words  and  to  have  written  under  them: 
"  If  thou  hast  fear,  then  do  not  chmb  at  all." 

Whether  these  legends  have  any  fact  for  founda- 
tion, or  are  the  mere  anecdotes  of  history  none  can 
say.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  Sir  Walter  was  a 
great  favorite  at  Court,  and  that  section  of  our 
own  country  which  he  colonized  was  named  Virginia 
in  honor  of  the  virgin  queen  of  England. 

In  one  event,  perhaps  one  only,  might  Elizabeth 
have  yielded  and  chosen  for  herself  a  husband. 
There  was  always  a  fleeting  shadow  on  England's 
northern  horizon  and  that  shadow  was  embodied 
in  the  bewitching  person  of  Mary  Stuart.  She 
had  been  married  to  Francis  Second,  the  young 
king  of  France  —  a  marriage  made  in  spite  of 
Elizabeth's  protest.  Should  a  son  be  born  of  this 
union,  what  would  he  be.''  First,  the  Dauphin  of 
France;  second,  the  Duke  of  Rothsay  of  Scotland; 
third,  the  heir-apparent  to  the  English  crown. 
Three  crowns  might  be  united  upon  one  small  lad's 
head.  If  this  should  happen,  might  not  the  two 
island  kingdoms,  England  and  Scotland,  become 
dependencies  of  France?  This  was  not  to  be 
thought  of,  and  this  incident  alone  would  have 
moved  Elizabeth  to  marry.  But  Mary  had  no 
children  by  her  first  marriage,  and  Elizabeth  was 
free  to  pursue  her  way  unmolested. 


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Elizabeth  35 

One  thing  which  had  greatly  impressed  the 
people  during  Elizabeth's  youth  was  her  extreme 
plainness  of  dress.  One  writer  declares  that  she 
looked  like  a  gray  nun.  As  the  years  went  by, 
however,  and  she  became  firmly  established  upon 
her  throne,  she  considered  it  no  longer  necessary 
to  do  this,  and  indulged  to  the  limit  her  passionate 
fondness  for  gay  attire.  According  to  contempo- 
rary chroniclers,  the  gifts  she  received  at  the  New 
Year  usually  supplied  her  with  money,  wardrobe, 
and  jewels.  Most  of  the  peers  and  peeresses  of  the 
realm,  the  bishops,  the  chief  officers  of  the  state, 
and  Her  Majesty's  household  down  to  the  master 
of  the  pantry  and  the  head  cook,  sent  to  the  queen 
at  the  New  Year  a  box  consisting  of  either  a  sum 
of  money,  jewels,  or  wearing  apparel.  It  is  re- 
corded that  on  one  occasion  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  sent  her  forty  pounds,  the  Archbishop 
of  York  thirty  pounds.  The  peers  gave  in  propor- 
tion. The  peeresses  presented  rich  gowns,  petti- 
coats, stockings,  garters,  and  other  articles  of 
wearing  apparel.  Her  physician,  contrary  to  the 
custom  of  those  of  the  present  day,  sent  her  a  box 
of  foreign  sweetmeats  —  perhaps  with  a  view  to 
getting  himself  sent  for  next  morning  —  while  her 
apothecary  sent  a  box  of  green  ginger  and  a  box 
of  candied  ginger,  mayhap  to  counteract  the  effect 
of  the  doctor's  sweetmeats.     One  Ambrose  Lupo 


36  Royal  Women 

presented  her  with  a  box  of  lute-strings;  while 
Smith,  the  royal  dustman,  gave  Her  Majesty  two 
rolls  of  cambric.  The  gorgeousness  of  Elizabeth's 
gowns  is  a  matter  of  history.  One  of  them  was 
the  famous  peacock  dress,  which  she  had  made  as 
symbolic  of  herself.  The  heavy  silk  is  woven  to 
represent  an  eye  (in  color  like  the  spots  in  the 
peacock's  tail),  an  ear,  and  winding  in  and  out 
between  the  two,  a  serpent.  She  meant  to  imply 
that  naught  in  her  kingdom  escaped  her  —  that  she 
had  as  many  eyes  as  there  were  spots  in  the  pea- 
cock's tail,  an  ear  to  hear  all  that  was  said  in  her 
kingdom,  and  was  as  crafty  as  the  serpent. 

Many  of  the  interesting  spots  of  the  London  of 
today  date  from  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  but  like 
other  landmarks  of  historic  England,  they  are 
gradually  passing  away.  Windsor  Castle  was  her 
favorite  haunt.  Here  she  passed  much  of  her  time. 
In  the  evening,  just  before  dinner,  almost  invariably 
she  walked  for  an  hour  in  the  grounds,  unless  pre- 
vented by  the  wind,  to  which  she  had  a  strong 
aversion.  Rain,  it  seems,  did  not  disturb  her.  She 
took  great  pleasure  in  walking  under  a  large 
umbrella  in  the  wet  weather  along  the  terrace  on 
the  north  front  of  the  castle.  When  first  she  came 
to  Windsor  the  grounds  were  neglected  and  ston}', 
but  the  beautiful  terraces  which  were  built  by  her 


Queen   IJi/.alii  111   wearing  the  peacock  dress 


EUzahcth  37 

order  remain  as  she  left  them,  and  a  part  of  the 
path  is  still  known  as  Queen  Elizabeth's  Walk. 

Of  all  the  places  connected  with  Elizabeth's  life, 
the  most  romantic  and  interesting  is  old  Lambeth 
Palace.  Historians  who  are  not  fond  of  Elizabeth 
make  much  of  the  fact  that  she  never  allowed  the 
subject  of  her  mother's  marriage  to  the  king,  her 
father,  to  be  discussed  in  any  way ;  never  took  any 
steps  to  have  it  legalized  by  her  Parliament;  in 
fact,  never  displayed  any  sentiment  whatever  on 
the  subject.  Doubtless  she  felt  that  the  fact  that 
she  was  queen  of  England  was  in  itself  sufficient, 
and  both  established  her  mother's  innocence  and 
legitimatized  her  own  birth. 

But  in  order  to  see  a  side  of  Elizabeth's  character 
which  historians  have  studiously  let  alone,  one  should 
make  a  visit  to  Lambeth  Palace.  Once  inside  its  great 
gates,  he  may  sit  down*  on  a  rude  bench  made  of 
one  of  the  old  oaks  for  which  England  is  famous. 
Here  a  white-haired  caretaker  will  join  him,  and 
he  may  ask  him  what  there  is  of  interest  at  Lambeth 
Palace.  The  caretaker  will  tell  him  (and  the  state- 
ment will  be  strictly  true,  as  the  position  is  heredi- 
tary in  the  family)  that  he  is  a  descendant  of  the 
Archbishop  of  London  who  occupied  the  palace 
during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  and  who  was  her 
mother's  confessor.     He  will  tell  him  that  on  the 


38  Royal  Women 

bench  where  he  sits  she  sat,  in  the  days  long  gone 
by,  while  his  ancestor,  the  Archbishop,  told  her  all 
about  her  mother  —  how  she  looked  and  talked  and 
acted,  how  she  loved  tlie  king  and  her  bab}',  how 
she  suffered  unjustly  and  died.  He  may  show  him 
the  Archbishop's  diary,  in  which  he  wrote :  "  Today 
came  as  usual  Her  Gracious  Majesty  the  Queen, 
who  never  tires  of  hearing  all  that  concerns  the 
Lady  Anne  Boleyn,  her  mother,  and  who  has  always 
some  new  question  to  ask  concerning  her.  Today  it 
was  of  her  father's  harshness  when  the  Lady  Anne 
begged  him  not  to  send  her  forth  to  death,  and  Her 
Majesty  shed  many  tears  when  I  told  her  (for  I 
must  even  speak  the  truth  when  she  asks  me),  and 
^le  ever  seemeth  comforted  when  I,  having  spoken 
that  which  grieved  her,  do  assure  her  of  her  mother, 
the  Ladj^  Anne's  innocence,  for  I  do  know  this  for 
truth,  I  who  received  her  last  confession  before  her 
sorrowful  end." 

The  most  interesting  period  of  Elizabeth's 
career  embraced  the  years  of  her  long  and  bitter 
controversy  with  Mary  Stuart.  There  is  perhaps 
no  character  in  history  which  was  in  the  end  so 
different  from  that  which  in  the  beginning  it  gave 
promise  of  being,  as  tlie  Scottish  queen.  Mary  was 
but  nineteen  when  her  young  husband,  Francis 
Second,  died.  Willingly  would  she  have  remained 
in  France,  but  her  two  ambitious  uncles,  the  Duke  of 


^Mmc-lm 


London   lirifliie 


(JiU'i'U   Klizalu  til  s    Walk   at   \\'iiulsor 


Elizabeth  '  39 

Guise  and  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  insisted  upon 
her  return  to  her  own  country.  The  fierce  and 
seemingly  interminable  struggle  between  Elizabeth 
and  Mary  began  at  once.  It  darkened  the  lives  of 
these  two  royal  women  ever  afterward.  It  pursued 
Mary  to  the  block  and  filled  the  remainder  of 
Elizabeth's  days  with  shadows. 

The  quarrel  was  about  the  succession.  Mary 
consented  to  acknowledge  that  the  right  of  the 
English  crown  was  vested  in  Elizabeth  and  her 
posterity,  if  Elizabeth,  in  turn,  would  declare  her 
heir-presumptive.  This  Elizabeth  refused  to  do, 
declaring  that  the  subject  of  the  succession  should 
never  be  discussed  during  her  lifetime.  "  How  is 
it  possible,"  she  asked,  "  for  anyone  to  love  me 
whose  interest  it  is  to  see  me  dead?  Human  affec- 
tion is  inconstant.  Man  is  prone  to  worship  the 
rising  sun.  It  was  so  in  my  father's  time.  It  will 
be  so  in  mine  if  I  declare  the  succession."  This 
was  the  tiny  wedge  which  opened  the  rivalry  (and 
bitter  it  grew  to  be)  between  Elizabeth  of  England 
and  Mary  of  Scotland.  It  is  an  undeniable  fact 
that  it  takes  two  people  to  quarrel,  and  in  this  case 
there  were  certainly  two.  Much  of  the  antagonism 
was  personal.  Elizabeth  was  jealous  of  Mary's 
youth,  her  beauty,  and  attractiveness.  She  would 
willingly  have  kept  her  out  of  sight,  but  she  would 
never  have  let  her  personal  animosity   extend  to 


40  BoTjal  Women 

such  length  as  to  decree  her  death,  had  not  Mary, 
in  such  persistent  fashion,  troubled  her  kingdom. 
Mary  had  determined  that  she  would  force  Eliza- 
beth to  declare  her  rights  as  heir  to  the  English 
crown,  and  during  the  years  which  followed  she 
left  no  stone  unturned  to  carry  out  her  plans. 

Elizabeth  saw  whither  Mary's  conduct  was  lead- 
ing her,  and  became  greatly  distressed.  She  realized 
that,  sooner  or  later,  the  aifair  would  pass  beyond 
her  own  power  to  manage.  Already  her  Council 
and  her  Parliament  were  warning  her.  Some  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  there  would  be  no  safety  in 
England  till  Mary  was  out  of  the  way.  She  did 
not  wish  to  punish  her  unless  forced  to  do  so,  but 
when  it  was  proved  beyond  doubt  that  Mary  had 
taken  part  in  a  plot  which  had  for  its  ultimate  end 
the  assassination  of  Elizabeth,  it  became  necessary 
to  take  rigorous  steps  in  the  matter. 

Mary's  friends  have  contended  that,  not  being 
an  English  subject,  she  could  not  be  lawfully  tried 
and  punished  in  England;  but  this  is  the  rankest 
nonsense.  Any  government  has  the  right  to  detain 
a  dangerous  public  enemy.  No  government  ever 
did  or  ever  will  let  pass  an  attempt  on  the  life  of 
its  sovereign.  If  Napoleon,  while  a  prisoner  at 
St.  Helena,  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  seize 
the  island  and  had  succeeded  in  the  attempt,  who 
would  have  blamed  him.?     But  if  he  had  attempted 


Elizaheth  41 

to  accomplish  liis  end  by  assassinating  the  Governor, 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  what  would  have  happened? 
Assuredly  he  would  have  been  hanged. 

For  a  long  time  it  was  Elizabeth  alone  who  stood 
between  Mary  and  the  scaffold.  The  council 
stormed  and  threatened.  She  obstinately  refused 
to  sign  the  death  warrant.  It  has  been  taken  for 
granted  that  she  really  desired  Mary's  execution 
and  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  impress  this 
fact  upon  the  people,  but  her  reluctance  to  sign 
the  document  was  too  genuine.  She  was  not  of 
an  altogether  generous  disposition,  but  the  records 
of  her  court  show  that  she  was  never  in  any  hurry 
to  punish  the  disaffected  or  even  to  weed  them  out 
of  her  kingdom.  Since  her  accession  only  two 
English  peers  had  been  put  to  death,  though  many 
had  richly  deserved  It.  For  fifteen  years  she  pre- 
vented Mary's  execution,  and  this  at  a  great  and 
ever-Increasing  risk  to  herself.  Now  the  warrant 
was  drawn  up  and  lay  before  her.  She  was  hard 
pressed,  but  still  she  hesitated.  She  flinched  from 
the  undeserved  censure  which  she  felt  was  In  store 
for  her  If  she  took  the  step.  She  foresaw  that  the 
individual  blame  would  fall  on  her  alone,  and  It  did. 

All  through  November,  December,  and  January 
she  hesitated.  Her  aspect  became  most  gloomy. 
She  was  to  be  seen  wandering  in  out-of-the-way 
places,  arguing  fiercely  with  herself.     Not  Infre- 


42  Royal  Women 

qucntlj  she  was  heard  to  mutter  the  old  Latin 
saying,  ne  feriare  feri — ^kill  or  be  killed.  The 
words  revealed  her  thoughts.  The  execution  seemed 
inevitable.  Doublcss  she  wished  that  someone 
would  quietly  dispatch  Mary  and  save  her  the 
trouble,  but  the  days  of  Thomas  a  Becket  were 
long  gone  by.  At  last,  when  she  could  no  longer 
withstand  the  demands  of  her  ministry,  she  signed 
Mar^^'s  death  warrant,  and  then  sternly  forbade 
that  anyone  should  ever  speak  to  her  again  upon  a 
subject  about  which  she  did  not  wish  to  be  troubled 
further.  One  thing  more,  however,  was  necessary. 
The  warrant  must  be  sealed  and  delivered  to  the 
secretary  of  the  Council,  with  instructions  to  carry 
it  out.  Again  she  delayed.  Hoping  to  gain  time, 
she  signed  and  delivered  it  without  instructions. 
On  the  morning  of  the  ninth  of  Februarj',  news 
that  the  execution  had  taken  place  at  Fothcringay 
found  its  way  to  the  queen.  She  stormed  and  raved 
and  became  actually  hj'sterical.  Much  has  been 
written  about  this  episode.  It  is  held  by  many 
that  her  anger  was  assumed,  that  she  wished  to 
make  the  people  believe  that  she  had  been  taken 
advantage  of  in  the  matter;  but  undoubtedly,  at 
the  last  moment,  Mary  was  put  to  death  without 
her  knowledge.  Elizabeth  was  never  the  same 
again.  It  makes  no  difference  what  the  motive  was 
which  caused  her  to  hesitate  so  long  over  the  sign- 


!V»».  ^"^^SV  nij,    V     1,>.  i|b  S 


;"/^: 


^^ 


<...^'"\ 


'i 


Elizabetli  liesitating  to  sign  the  order  for 
JNIarv's    execution 


Elizabeth  43 

ing  of  the  warrant,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  deatli 
of  Mary  Stuart  had  a  profound  effect  upon  her. 

What  a  period  of  hterary  splendor  was  the  reign 
of  Ehzabeth !  It  was  unsurpassed  in  the  history  of 
the  world.  The  pens  of  the  master  writers  sup- 
ported her  throne,  and  one  can  only  conjecture 
what  the  effect  would  have  been  upon  her  reign 
and  reputation  had  they  turned  their  power  against 
instead  of  for  her.  This  brilliant  period  was  not  con- 
fined to  England.  In  the  other  countries  of  Europe 
there  were  great  men.  There  was  Martin  Luther 
the  reformer,  in  Germany ;  Sully,  the  great  states- 
man, in  France.  There  were  Ariosto  and  Tasso  in 
Italy,  Cervantes  in  Spain.  There  were  the  great 
artists  —  Michael  Angelo,  Titian,  and  Correggio. 
There  was  Palestrina,  the  father  of  Italian  music. 
In  England,  Elizabeth  had  gathered  about  her 
court  Francis  Bacon,  the  philosopher,  Hooker,  the 
eminent  divine,  Gresham,  the  great  merchant.  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  the  seaman  and  circumnavigator, 
Philip  Sidney,  noblest  of  courtiers,  Spenser, 
Raleigh  and  Essex,  renowned  in  song  and  story, 
and  Shakespeare,  the  Immortal,  whose  magic  art 
has  never  been  excelled. 

After  the  death  of  Mary  Stuart  sixteen  years 
went  by.  The  long  shadows  began  to  fall  across 
Elizabeth's  pathway.  Her  brilliant  reign  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  and  what  woman  in  all  the  world 


44  Boijal  Women 

ever  fouiui  herself  in  a  position  more  profoundly 
pitiable?  Where  was  now  that  throng  of  lovers 
and  courtiers  who  had  danced  attendance  upon  her 
in  her  younger  days?  All  were  gone.  Arundel  was 
dead,  Pickering  was  dead,  Leicester  was  dead,  and 
with  characteristic  forgetfulness  of  what  she  did 
not  choose  to  remember,  another  of  her  most  faith- 
ful admirers  was  soon  to  be  no  more.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  of  a  bleak  day  in  December,  a  black 
barge  with  the  royal  crown  painted  on  the  bow, 
especially  used  to  convey  certain  criminals  to  the 
Tower,  moored  itself  alongside  the  Traitors'  Gate. 
In  the  stern  of  the  boat  sat  a  man  wrapped  in  a 
velvet  cloak  lined  with  satin,  his  face  shaded  by  a 
broad  gray  hat  adorned  with  handsome  plumes  —  a 
man  of  fine  countenance  and  well-knit  figure,  evi- 
dently^ a  personage  of  note.  It  was  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  gallant  soldier,  courtier,  adventurer, 
writer,  philosopher  —  tried  on  a  trumped-up  charge 
at  Winchester,  found  guilty  of  treason  and  sen- 
tenced to  imprisonment  in  the  Tower.  Here  he 
made  his  first  stop  on  the  way  to  his  death.  Up 
and  down  the  long  corridor  he  used  to  walk,  and 
doubtless  he  reflected  more  than  once  on  the  ingrati- 
tude of  humanity,  Elizabeth  had  forgotten  him 
who  had  covered  the  damp  ground  with  his  velvet 
cloak,  that  the  fairy  feet  of  his  queen  might  pass 
over  unsoiled. 


Elizabeth  45 

And  where  are  now  all  those  things  which  should 
accompany  old  age  —  affection,  tenderness,  hosts  of 
friends?  Honor  and  obedience,  it  is  true,  she  still 
had,  but  as  the  years  went  by  she  was  haunted  by 
the  consciousness  that  among  all  those  who  still  did 
her  reverence  there  was  not  only  who  really  loved 
her,  not  one  who  really  cared  whether  her  life  should 
be  prolonged  or  not.  She  had  tasted  the  satisfac- 
tion of  leading  the  life  which  pleased  her.  She  had 
played  the  great  game  of  politics,  for  which  she 
was  especially  gifted.  Now  she  realized  that  they 
who  have  not  loved  in  youth  shall  not  find  love  in 
old  age.  She  had  never  shared  with  a  husband  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  life.  She  had  never  nursed  her 
children  or  rocked  their  tiny  cradles.  She  had  come 
to  old  age  without  knowing  the  varied  interests  that 
cluster  around  a  family.  Now  she  sat,  uncared 
for,  perhaps  uncaring,  in  the  twilight  which  would 
be  followed  by  the  night.  All  that  goes  to  make  life 
beautiful  had  passed  her  by.  Was  the  crown  of 
Merrie  England  a  recompense.?  Not  so.  "When 
thou  dost  feel  Time  knocking  at  the  gates,"  she 
murmured,  "all  these  fooleries  will  please  thee  less." 

Of  all  the  forgotten  treasures  of  the  past  which 
the  students  of  the  present  day  have  brought  to 
light,  royal  letters  are  not  only  the  most  interesting 
but  are  calculated  to  render  the  greatest  service  in 
the  cause  of  truth.     What  evidence  can  afford  so 


46  Royal  Women 

fair  a  test  of  the  moral  qualities  and  intellectual 
powers  of  those  who  have  played  a  conspicuous 
part  in  the  arena  of  public  life  as  that  furnished 
by  their  own  pens?  It  is  not  always  that  we  find 
in  the  public  records  of  a  nation  or  a  court  the  true 
story  of  those  who  dwelt  therein.  It  is  the  general 
impression  that  if  Elizabeth  had  a  genuine  affec- 
tion for  anyone  it  was  for  Dudley.  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  novel,  Kenilworth,  keeps  this  impression 
before  our  minds,  but  the  old  documents  of  the 
period  disprove  it.  Of  all  the  royal  flatterers  who 
crowded  around  Elizabeth  from  her  girlhood  to 
her  death,  it  was  Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex, 
who  obtained  the  strongest  hold  upon  her  affections. 
All  the  later  years  of  her  life  were  saddened  by  his 
follies  and  misfortunes.  She  made  him  Governor- 
General  of  Ireland,  but  he  found  himself  unable 
to  cope  with  the  difficulties  of  his  position,  and 
contrary  to  the  queen's  express  orders,  he  returned 
to  England. 

She  punished  him  by  ordering  him  into  retire- 
ment in  his  own  house.  He  was  brought  before 
the  Council  to  justify,  if  he  could,  his  mismanage- 
ment of  Irish  affairs.  He  refused  to  speak,  but 
threw  himself  at  the  Queen's  feet  and  asked  her 
pardon.  Elizabeth  accepted  his  apology  but  did 
not  intend  to  restore  him  to  favor  without  letting 
him  suffer  the  pangs  of  despair,  at  least  for  a 


Elizabeth  47 

while.  All  would  have  gone  well  had  not  Essex 
lost  his  temper.  In  his  humiliation,  he  suddenly 
flared  up  and  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  anger  and 
disappointment.  He  called  the  queen  an  old  woman. 
He  said  she  was  as  crooked  in  mind  as  she  was  in 
body;  and  never,  since  the  days  of  insulted  Juno, 
has  any  woman,  much  less  Elizabeth  of  England, 
patiently  endured  such  language.  Elizabeth  sternly 
bade  him  begone  from  her  presence;  but  after  he 
was  gone  there  began  the  struggle  in  her  heart 
between  her  affectionate  regard  for  him  on  the  one 
hand  and  her  pride  and  sense  of  justice  on  the 
other.  She  had  passed  the  time  of  life  when  a 
woman  permits  herself  to  be  swayed  by  her  emo- 
tions, and  what  might  have  been  impossible  for  her 
to  do  in  days  gone  by  she  now  did  with  resolution 
and  firmness.  Essex  lost  all  control  of  himself  and 
actually  took  part  in  an  attempt  to  overthrow  the 
throne.  For  this  he  was  arrested,  tried,  convicted, 
and  sent  to  the  Tower. 

During  the  whole  miserable  affair,  the  queen, 
with  her  profound  insight,  could  not  but  perceive 
the  true  secret  of  Essex's  folly  and  crime.  He  was 
mad,  desperate.  She  knew  very  well  that  at  heart 
he  was  not  disloyal,  that  in  the  midst  of  his  insane 
bravado  he  would  have  fought  to  the  death  for  her 
had  she  so  much  as  smiled  upon  him  in  the  old-time 
fashion.      It   was   only   a   lover's   madness,   but   it 


48  Royal  Women 

placed  the  queen  in  the  same  position  in  which  she 
had  found  herself  with  Mary  Stuart.  Essex  was 
condemned  to  death.  From  the  Tower  he  wrote 
her  a  letter  ending  with  these  words : 

Haste,  letter,  to  that  happy  presence  whence  only  unhappy 
I  am  banished.  Kiss  that  fair,  correcting  hand,  and  say  that 
thou  comest  from  languishing,  pining,  despairing 

Essex. 

There  lay  his  death  warrant  before  her,  but  she 
could  not  persuade  herself  to  sign  it.    Why.'' 

Once  during  their  younger  days,  when  Essex 
had  been  about  to  depart  on  a  mission  of  some 
kind,  while  he  was  pouring  out  his  lover's  grief  and 
bewailing  his  hapless  lot  in  having  to  leave  her, 
the  queen  had  given  him  a  ring,  assuring  him  if  he 
were  ever  in  peril  or  in  need  of  her  assistance  she 
would  come  to  him  if  he  would  return  to  her  this 
token  of  her  ro^al  pledge.  Now  he  was  condemned 
to  die  and  Elizabeth  remembered  her  promise.  Day 
after  day  went  by  while  she  waited,  believing, 
hoping  even,  that  her  obstinate  lover  would  send 
back  the  ring.  But  it  came  not,  and  moved  to 
desperation  by  what  she  considered  his  defiance,  she 
signed  the  fatal  document  and  the  sentence  was 
carried  out  without  delay. 

Some  years  later  the  old  Countess  of  Notting- 
ham lay  dying  and  sent  in  haste  for  the  queen. 


Elizabeth  49 

When  she  arrived  the  Countess  told  her  that  shortly 
before  his  death  Essex  had  given  her  a  ring,  sol- 
emnly charging  her  to  place  it  in  the  queen's  own 
hands.  Her  husband  had  persuaded  her  not  to  do  it. 
Here  it  was! 

Elizabeth  stood  absolutely  transfixed  with  horror. 
Essex,  then,  had  remembered.  He  had  struggled  to 
save  himself.  He  had  bowed  to  her  imperious  will, 
and  he  had  died  believing  that  the  ring  had  been 
delivered  to  her  and  that  she  had  broken  her  royal 
word.  The  storms  of  almost  seventy  years  had 
already  chilled  and  frozen  her,  but  over  her  soul 
all  this  rushed  like  a  torrent.  She  flew  with  the 
ferocity  of  a  tigress  upon  the  aged,  dying  woman, 
almost  shaking  the  remaining  life  out  of  her  before 
she  recovered  her  self-control.  "  God  may  forgive 
you,"  she  angrily  exclaimed,  "but  I  never  will." 

She  returned  to  the  palace  in  an  uncontrollable 
storm  of  grief.  Any  peace  of  mind  she  may  ever 
have  had  was  gone  forever.  Essex  was  dead.  She 
would  not  eat.  She  could  not  sleep.  For  ten  days 
and  nights  she  lay  where  she  had  flung  herself  on 
the  floor,  propped  up  with  pillows  which  her  ladies 
brought  her,  vainly  imploring  her  to  rise  and  allow 
herself  to  be  put  to  bed.  She  would  not  listen. 
She  lay  where  she  had  fallen,  and  before  her  sleep- 
less eyes  the  memory  of  her  old  association  with 
Essex  passed  in  shadowy  review. 


50  Boyal  Women 

Soon  it  became  evident  that  the  end  was  at  hand. 
None  knew  it  better  than  she.  The  shadows  fell 
upon  the  evening  of  the  last  day.  The  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  read  the  prayers  for  the  dying.  The 
Councillors  came  to  ask  about  the  succession.  With 
that  ambiguity  with  which  she  had  been  wont  to 
baffle  her  inquisitors  for  forty-five  years,  she  re- 
plied that  she  had  held  a  regal  sceptre,  she  desired 
a  royal  successor.  When  pressed  further  she  said : 
"A  king  for  my  successor."  As  there  was  no  king 
but  James  of  Scotland,  Mary  Stuart's  son,  the 
crown  passed  quietly  to  him. 

Elizabeth  died  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  March, 
1603.  She  was  sixty-nine  years  old,  and  had  occu- 
pied the  throne  of  England  for  almost  half  a 
century.  In  England's  great  Valhalla,  West- 
minster Abbey,  she  sleeps  in  marble,  untroubled 
by  the  fact  that  on  one  side  of  her  lies  her  sister 
Mary,  who  persecuted  her,  on  the  other,  Mary  of 
Scotland,  whom  perhaps  she  persecuted.  The 
tombs  of  these  three  royal  women  cull  to  mind  the 
words  of  Omar,  the  Persian : 

Think,  in  this  batter  'd  Caravanserai 
Whose  Portals  are  alternate  Night  and  Day, 
How  Sultan  after  Sultan  with  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  destin  'd  Hour,  and  went  his  way. 


Death  of  Qiifcn  Elizabeth 


^^^p^l>^^^ 


II 

CROWN  AND  THISTLE 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots 


Marv  Stuart  in  xoulli 


II 

CROWN   AND    THISTLE 

Mary  Queen   of   Scots 

HISTORIANS  have  made  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots  either  a  martyred  saint  or  an  incor- 
rigible sinner.  In  point  of  fact  she  was 
neither.  Her  beauty,  her  romance,  her  faults,  her 
misfortunes,  her  short,  eventful  life,  her  years  of 
captivity,  and  her  tragic  death  have  combined  to 
make  her  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  remark- 
able figures  in  all  history.  When  her  English 
cousin  signed  her  death  warrant,  she  did  what  she 
would  have  given  her  crown  to  prevent.  She  made 
Mary  Stuart  immortal. 

Her  life  was  divided  into  two  distinct  epochs. 
The  first  included  her  childhood,  her  young  woman- 
hood in  France,  and  her  return  to  Scotland  —  a 
period  neglected  by  historians.  The  rest  of  her 
years  made  up  the  second  epoch.  The  multitude 
of  events  which  crowded  into  her  later  years  have 
made  us  forget  that  nearly  half  her  life  was  over 
before  her  stormy  history  in  Scotland  began. 
53 


54  Royal  Women 

The  raven  croaked  when  Mary  Stuart  was  born. 
She  entered  life  with  a  prognostication  of  failure. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  v/intry  day  in  December, 
1542,  a  single  horseman  rode  swiftly  over  the 
moorlands  in  the  direction  of  Falkland  Palace.  It 
was  the  day  after  the  battle  of  Solway  Moss.  Ten 
tliousand  Scots  had  been  put  to  flight  by  three 
hundred  Englishmen,  and  in  one  of  the  bare, 
unfurnished  chambers  in  the  tower  of  the  palace, 
James  Fifth  of  Scotland  lay  dying. 

The  rider  answered  the  challenge  of  the  sentry 
at  the  gate  and  was  permitted  to  enter.  "  On  the 
king's  business ! "  he  said  to  the  guard  at  the  door. 
A  moment  later  he  was  admitted  to  the  room  where 
the  dying  man  lay.  The  face  of  the  king  lighted 
up  when  he  entered. 

"  You  have  news  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Take  heart,  Milord.  All  is  not  3'et  lost.  You 
have  a  child." 

"A  child,  you  say.''    A  son.'"' 

"  Nay,  Milord ;  't  is  a  daughter  —  a  wee  bit 
lassie." 

The  sick  man  groaned.  "And  is  it  indeed  so  .'* " 
he  asked,  sorrowfully.  "  Then  God's  will  be  done. 
The  crown  came  to  the  Stuarts  with  a  lass,  and 
't  will  go  with  a  lass."  Then  he  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall  and   spoke  no  more,   save  to  mutter  in 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  55 

his  delirium  the  words,  "  Solway  Moss  —  Solway 
Moss." 

The  history  of  Mary  Stuart  is  largely  a  story  of 
flight.  Almost  from  the  day  of  her  birth  to  the 
day  of  her  death  she  flitted  from  place  to  place, 
from  palace  to  palace,  from  castle  to  castle,  from 
prison  to  prison,  driven  hither  and  yon  either  by 
fear  or  by  necessity,  like  chaff"  that  is  blown  before 
the  wind.  The  turbulent  life  of  the  little  kingdom, 
torn  both  by  foreign  Invasion  and  domestic  war- 
fare, had  ebbed  and  flowed  for  centuries  before  she 
was  born,  and  had  left  Its  impress  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  the  nation  over  which  she  had  to  reign. 

The  ancient  Scots  were  a  rude  and  intrepid 
people.  They  were  divided  into  clans  governed 
by  the  head  of  the  family,  whom  all  the  clan  served 
with  fidelity  even  unto  death.  All  the  members  of 
the  clan  bore  the  same  name,  and  between  clan  and 
clan  there  existed,  for  injuries  inflicted  or  for  mur- 
ders committed,  all  those  hereditary  feelings  of 
vengeance,  those  deadly  hatreds  which  form  the 
chief  characteristic  of  that  early  state  of  soclet}^ 
where  the  family  constituted  the  only  bond  of 
association. 

During  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  how- 
ever, some  fugitive  adventurous  Saxons  and  Nor- 
mans ventured  into  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland.     It 


56  Royal  Women 

was  more  as  colonists  than  as  conquerors  that  they 
came,  but  from  the  time  of  their  coming  there 
existed  in  the  small  kingdom  two  peoples,  two 
languages,  two  states  of  society,  two  forms  of 
organization.  The  old  Celtic  races  kept  to  the 
mountains.  The  Anglo-Saxons  occupied  the  plains. 
The  Highlanders  spoke  the  Gaelic,  the  Lowlanders 
the  English  language.  The  former  continued  to 
live  in  clans.  The  latter  lived  under  the  institu- 
tions of  feudalism.  The  Highlanders  recognized 
no  bond  except  that  of  the  family  relationship. 
The  Lowlanders  acknowledged  all  the  political  and 
territorial  framework  of  a  military  society.  War 
was,  so  to  speak,  of  permanent  existence  in  Scot- 
land. Quarrels  between  clan  and  clan,  between 
Highlander  and  Lowlander,  were  of  continual 
occurrence,  and  to  these  were  added  foreign  wars 
of  no  little  importance.  When  such  a  state  of 
affairs  exists  uninterrupted  for  centuries,  it  cannot 
fail  to  have  its  effect  upon  the  character  of  the 
people,  and  this  was  the  great  problem  which 
confronted  the  Stuarts. 

When  James  First  came  to  the  throne  he 
endeavored  to  bring  the  clannish  nobility  into 
some  sort  of  system.  After  that  the  Stuarts  labored 
incessantly  to  diminish  their  influence  and  to  humble 
their  pride.  James  First,  like  his  descendant,  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  was  a  prisoner  in  England  for 


S  en 

o 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  57 

eighteen  years.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  was 
murdered  in  a  Dominican  monastery  by  a  clansman. 
During  the  long  minority  of  James  Second  all 
the  changes  which  James  First  endeavored  to  make 
disappeared,  but  as  soon  as  he  came  of  age  he 
recommenced  the  work.  He  was  killed  by  the 
bursting  of  a  cannon  on  the  battle-field,  which 
fate  doubtless  saved  him  from  one  similar  to  his 
father's.  James  Third  was  left  a  minor,  but  as 
soon  as  he  was  old  enough  he  took  up  the  work. 
He  acted  with  neither  energy  nor  discernment, 
however,  and  all  he  accomplished  was  to  unite  the 
nobility  against  himself,  instead  of  dividing  it. 
He  died  in  battle,  and  James  Fourth,  either  alarmed 
or  admonished  by  his  father's  and  forefathers'  fate, 
did  not  follow  in  their  footsteps.  He  made  terms 
with  the  Scottish  nobility  and  took  advantage  of 
the  quiet  which  ensued  to  strengthen  his  kingdom. 
He  married  the  daughter  of  Henry  Seventh,  who 
had  just  brought  to  a  termination  the  violent  civil 
wars  between  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  in 
England,  and  who  was  the  founder  of  the  Tudor 
dynasty.  But  Henry  Eighth  promptly  undid  what 
good  his  father  had  accomplished  in  regard  to 
Scotland,  and  forced  the  king  of  the  latter  country 
to  form  a  new  alliance  with  the  king  of  France 
and  to  take  up  arms  against  England.  For  once 
the  king  and  the  nobility  acted  in  concert.     But 


58  Roifcd  Women 

James  Fourth  fell  at  Flodden  Field,  and  under  the 
long  minority  of  James  Fifth,  who  was  less  than 
two  years  old,  the  affairs  of  Scotland  fell  into  the 
utmost  disorder.  The  latter  is  interesting  chiefly 
because  he  was  the  father  of  Mary  Stuaii.  He 
sowed  his  wild  oats  Avith  ungrudging  partiality,  and 
his  end  was  no  less  tragic  than  that  of  his  prede- 
cessors. 

Occasionally  some  would-be  authority  on  the 
subject  declares  that  there  is  notliing  in  heredity, 
but  we  smile  at  his  misguided  enthusiasm  and  pass 
him  by,  realizing,  as  always,  that  it  is  the  most 
powerful  factor  in  the  sum  of  human  destiny. 
That  the  tendencies  which  ancestors  transmit 
mould  the  character  of  their  descendants  is  un- 
questionable. As  the  parents  are,  so  the  children 
are  likcl}^  to  be,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent.  One 
has  but  to  glance  at  the  face  of  James  Fifth  to  see 
where  ]\Iary  Stuart  got  her  beauty,  her  witchery, 
her  charm,  and  alas !   her  frailty. 

No  doubt  James  Fifth  would  have  improved 
things  to  a  certain  extent,  however,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  religious  disturbance  then  prevalent 
in  England.  He  could  not  but  realize  the  difficulties 
of  his  position  if  Scotland  remained  a  Catholic 
country  while  England  turned  Protestant.  Henry 
Eighth  urged  him  to  accept  his  plans,  both  political 
and  religious,  and  offered  him  his  oldest  daughter 


Mari)  Queen  of  Scots  59 

in  marriage.  He  made  things  so  unpleasant  that 
James  was  compelled  to  choose  betAveen  the  two 
alternatives,  namely,  the  ruin  of  the  Catholic 
Church  and  the  long  cherished  desire  of  his  family, 
the  conquering  of  the  feudal  nobility.  He  rejected 
Henry's  proposal,  but  in  so  doing  he  was  forced  to 
return  to  the  ancient  policy  of  his  country,  which 
was  a  protective  alliance  with  the  king  of  France. 
He  married  Magdalen,  daughter  of  Francis  First 
of  France.  She  lived  but  a  few  months,  and  then 
he  wed  Mary  of  Lorraine.  She  was  the  sister  of 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  and  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
and  became  the  mother  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

Mary  of  Lorraine  was  one  of  those  splendid 
women  about  whom  history  says  little.  The  prob- 
lem which  confronted  her  after  the  death  of  James 
Fifth  was  a  difficult  one.  Two  sons  had  been  born 
to  them,  but  both  had  died  in  infancy.  She  could 
not  but  realize  that  the  odds  were  against  her.  The 
tiny  daughter  who  was  destined  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland  was  a  menace  to  the  crown  of  England 
from  the  day  of  her  birth.  She  herself  was  a 
foreigner  —  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land. 

Mary  was  born  in  the  old  palace  of  Linlithgow, 
on  December  8,  1542.  This,  the  first  of  the  stop- 
ping points,  as  it  were,  in  Mary's  career,  was 
unquestionably  one  of  the  most  splendid  palaces 
of  its  day.     It  is  still  magnificent,  even  in  its  ruin. 


60  Royal  Women 

The  great  courtyard  is  tenanted  now  only  by  the 
birds  of  the  air.  The  water  no  longer  flows  from 
the  carved  fountain  in  the  center.  The  roofs  of 
the  chapel  and  the  banquet  hall  have  fallen  in  long 
since.  The  palace  is  full  of  hidden  stairways,  sub- 
terranean passages,  shadowy  hiding  places  similar 
to  those  of  the  terrible  castle  of  Louis  Eleventh  at 
Loches,  but  the  court  of  Scotland  was  at  its  gayest 
when  Linlithgow  was  the  royal  residence.  With 
the  birth  of  Mary  Stuart,  however,  its  bright  days 
seem  to  have  become  dimmed  with  a  foreshadowing 
of  coming  sorrow,  James  Sixth,  Mary's  son,  came 
here  occasionally,  but  the  glory  of  the  palace  had 
gone  out  like  the  flame  of  a  tiny  candle  in  a  gusty 
casement.  After  the  retreat  from  Stirling,  the 
troops  of  General  Hawley  occupied  it  and  built 
such  huge  fires  on  the  hearths  that  there  was  a 
terrible  conflagration.  It  was  left  a  blackened 
ruin,  but  still  stately,  majestic,  and  royal  even  in 
its  decay.  Carved  in  the  stone  over  the  deep  bay 
window  in  the  room  where  Mary  was  born  is  the 
Crown  and  Thistle,  commemorative  of  the  event. 

The  mind  of  Mary's  mother  was  filled  with  fore- 
boding when  she  thought  of  the  future  of  her  child. 
True,  there  were  staunch  hearts  in  Scotland,  hearts 
to  whom  this  little  babe  was  inexpressibly  dear, 
who  recognized  that  she  was  the  sole  representative 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  61 

of  the  ancient  royal  line.  Mary  of  Lorraine  feared 
that  the  effort  would  be  made  to  separate  her  from 
her  child,  and  she  was  not  mistaken.  Untold  dan- 
gers beset  her  from  nearly  every  quarter.  No 
sooner  was  James  Fifth  dead  than  the  Earl  of 
Arran,  next  of  kin,  claimed  the  regency.  He  then 
determined  to  get  possession  of  Mary,  and  how 
pertinaciously  her  mother  struggled  to  retain  con- 
trol of  her  child  is  a  matter  of  history.  Over  in 
England  was  a  still  more  powerful  enemy,  Henry 
Eighth.  He,  too,  was  watching  the  progress  of 
affairs.  He  was  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  the 
continuance  of  the  royal  line  in  storm-shaken  Scot- 
land depended  on  the  existence  of  a  fragile  babe. 
He  began  to  lay  plans.  He  would  cheat  Mary 
out  of  her  inheritance  if  he  could  and  get  control  of 
her  country  himself.  He  demanded  her  betrothal 
to  his  son,  Prince  Edward.  This  was  granted. 
Then  he  demanded  that  the  infant  queen  be  placed 
in  his  hands  for  safe-keeping,  but  here  he  failed. 
He  found  the  laws  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the  will 
of  the  people,  too  much  for  him  on  this  occasion. 
Then  he  demanded  that  at  the  age  of  ten  she 
should  be  sent  to  England,  and  that  in  the  mean- 
time an  English  lady  and  gentleman  should  be 
placed  with  her,  who  should  conduct  her  education 
after  the  English  fashion.     The  queen  mother  was 


62  Royal  Women 

filled  with  alarm.  She  had  the  greatest  distrust  of 
Henry.  There  was  but  one  way  to  outwit  him. 
She  would  send  her  child  to  her  own  people  in 
France  if  she  could  not  summon  enough  support  to 
keep  her  with  her  in  Scotland. 

Mary  was  only  a  few  weeks  old  when  she  made 
her  first  flight.  For  the  absolute  safety  of  her 
person  her  mother  fled  with  her  to  Stirling  Castle 
and  lodged  her  royal  charge  safely  behind  those 
impregnable  walls.  In  the  old  square  tower  which 
looked  out  toward  the  Highlands  the  nursery  was 
situated,  and  altogether  unruffled  by  the  fierce 
excitement  which  w-as  agitating  two  kingdoms  on 
her  account,  Mary  grew  and  flourished  in  strength 
and  beauty,  and  was  in  every  respect  a  healthy, 
happy,  normal  child.  From  Stirling  Castle,  when 
she  was  eight  months  old,  she  was  taken  to  the 
church  of  the  Grey  Friars  to  be  crowned.  On  the 
ninth  day  of  September,  1543,  they  took  her  from 
her  cradle,  enveloped  her  in  royal  robes,  and  car- 
ried her  from  the  nursery  to  the  old  church  where 
she  was  invested  w-ith  all  the  glittering  symbols  of 
an  inheritance  which  proved  fatal.  The  crown 
was  placed  upon  lier  brow,  the  scepter  put  in  a 
^tiny  hand  too  small  to  hold  it,  the  great  sword  of 
state  girded  around  her.  Every  prelate  and  peer 
knelt  before  her,  repeated  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  kissed  her  little  hand.     No  wonder  she  wept. 


bo 


X 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  63 

It  is  recorded  that  she  never  ceased  to  weep  during 
the  whole  of  the  ceremony  —  an  event  which  filled 
the  minds  of  the  people  with  superstitious  fears 
and  forebodings. 

The  coronation  of  Mary  exasperated  Henry 
Eighth  beyond  measure.  He  ordered  her  seized 
and  sent  to  England,  but  his  envoys  found  it 
impossible  either  to  corrupt  or  outwit  the  faithful 
lord  keepers  who  had  her  safely  in  charge;  and 
although  Stirling  Castle  was  considered  capable  of 
resisting  any  sort  of  attack  the  little  girl  was 
removed  once  more,  this  time  to  the  Priory  on  the 
picturesque  island  of  Inchmahome,  in  the  Lake  of 
Menteith  in  Perth,  close  to  the  north  border  of 
Stirlingshire. 

When  one  has  a  desire  (as  some  one  has  fitly 
expressed  it)  to  realize  history,  he  should  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  this  old  Priory,  or  the  ruins,  which 
are  now  all  that  remain  of  it.  It  is  about  half  an 
hour's  ride  from  Stirling,  and  it  is  almost  as 
secluded  there  today  as  it  was  four  centuries  ago. 
He  may  walk  down  the  aisles  where  the  abbots 
trod  long  since,  and  pause  by  the  graves  in  the 
choir.  For  some  reason  the  quiet  dead  seem  always 
to  rest  more  peacefully  in  such  spots  as  this  than 
in  the  mad  rush  of  the  world  outside.  The  ruined 
refectory  is  roofless  now  and  open  to  the  air.  My 
lady's  chamber  is  tenantless  forever. 


64  Royal  Women 

Gone  is  the  roof,  and  perched  aloof 

Is  an  owl,  like  a  Friar  of  Orders  Grey. 
Perhaps  't  is  a  priest,  come  back  to  feast — 

For  priests  do  not  always  fast,  they  say. 
The  doughty  lords  sleep  the  sleep  of  swords, 

Dead  are  the  dames  and  damozels. 
The  king  in  his  crown  has  laid  him  down, 

And  the  jester  with  his  bells. 

Over  this  little  island  INIary  romped  and  clam- 
bered, clad  in  the  national  costume,  passing  almost 
the  only  happy  days  she  ever  knew  in  the  land  that 
gave  her  birth.  When  she  left  it  the  glory  of  the 
old  Priory  departed.  Nothing  disturbed  its  monot- 
ony again  until  the  giant  waves  of  the  Refonnation 
broke  over  Scotland.  Since  the  ruin  occasioned  by 
that  great  religious  convulsion,  deep  peace  has 
wrapped  its  mantle  around  Inchmahome.  Year 
after  year  the  ivy  has  clambered  farther  and  far- 
ther over  the  old  domain,  and  nothing  breaks  the 
silence  there  now  save  the  rustling  grass  beneath 
your  feet.  Few  visit  the  island.  Of  the  thousands 
who  travel  to  Scotland  year  after  year,  doubtless 
many  are  unaware  that  on  this  little  island  they 
would  see  not  only  one  of  the  most  interesting  but 
one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  earth. 

When  Mary  was  taken  to  Inchmahome  she  was 
accompanied  by  the  four  Maries,  faithful  little 
attendants,  companions  and  friends  of  her  child- 
hood.   They  went  with  her  to  France,  returned  with 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  65 

her  to   Scotland,  and   forsook  her  never  till  her 
tragic  death.     The  old  rhyme*  tells  us  that 

Yesterday  there  were  four  Maries ; 

Today  there  are  but  thi-ee. 
There  was  Mary  Beaton  and  Mary  Seaton 

And  Mary  Carmichael  and  me. 

Mary  Beaton  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Beaton,  the  keeper  of  Falkland  Palace,  to  which 
James  Fifth  fled  after  the  battle  of  Solway  Moss, 
and  where  he  died.  Some  of  the  names  most  famed 
in  Scottish  song  and  story  are  connected  with  the 
four  Maries.  Mary  Beaton  married  Alexander 
Ogilvie,  who  figured  largely  in  the  history  of  Mary 
Stuart's  reign.  Mary  Fleming  was  the  daughter 
of  the  queen's  aunt,  Lady  Fleming.  She  married 
the  famous  Maitland  of  Lethington.  Mary  Living- 
ston was  the  daughter  of  Mary  Stuart's  guardian, 
and  from  her  vigorous  habits  due  to  her  youth  and 
health  she  was  called  "Mary  the  lustie."  She  was 
married  to  John,  the  son  of  Robert,  Lord  Semple. 
The  Semples  were  a  family  famed  for  their  literary 
and  artistic  gifts.  Among  them  were  poets,  artists, 
and  musicians  of  merit. 

Mary  Seaton  alone  of  the  four  remained  unmar- 

•  There  is  something  wrong  about  the  well-known  rhyme, 
however.  The  names  of  the  four  little  girls  were  Mary  Beaton, 
Mary  Seaton,  Mary  Livingston,  and  Mary  Fleming.  The  rhyme 
Is  supposed  to  have  been  composed  by  Mary  Stuart,  the  word  me 
referring  to  herself. 


66  Royal  Women 

ried  while  Mary  Stuart  was  in  Scotland.  She  went 
with  her  when  she  fled  into  England,  was  in  con- 
stant attendance  on  her  until  the  end  of  her  life, 
and  walked  by  her  royal  mistress'  side  into  the 
great  stone  hall  at  Fothcringay  on  the  morning 
when  the  final  tragedy  was  wrought. 

What  a  contrast  between  the  fairy  island  of 
Inchmahome  and  the  Gibraltar  -  like  fortress  on 
Dumbarton  Rock  whither  Mary's  next  flight  was 
taken.  It  is  a  huge  cone-shaped  rock  divided  into 
two  parts  and  almost  four  hundred  feet  high.  The 
top  is  reached  by  long  flights  of  steps,  and  at  high 
tide  the  place  is  almost  an  island.  This  great  fort- 
ress was  so  old  when  Mary  was  there  that  the  almost 
four  hundred  j-ears  which  have  passed  since  then 
are  but  as  yesterday.  The  actual  date  of  its  founda- 
tion is  not  known.  It  was  occupied  by  the  Romans 
in  368.  The  Danes  and  Norwegians,  the  Romans 
and  the  Picts  waged  a  thousand  battles  around 
and  over  it,  changing  it  not  at  all.  Dumbarton 
calls  to  memory  the  story  of  William  Wallace. 
Here  he  was  received  by  ]\Icnteith  with  all  honor  as 
a  friend  and  then  by  the  basest  of  treachery  was 
lianded  over  to  Edward  of  England  to  meet  his 
trial  at  Westminster  and  his  cruel  death  at  Smith- 
field.  At  the  entrance  of  the  steps  is  a  portal  known 
as  the  Wallace  Gate,  and  over  it  two  heads  are 
crudely  carved  in  the  stone.     The  heads  are  those 


.    Mary  Queen  of  Scots  67 

of  Wallace  and  his  betrayer.  The  latter  has  his 
finger  in  his  mouth,  that  being  the  signal  by  which 
he  betrayed  his  chief  and  his  friend  to  torture  and 
death.  But  as  is  the  case  in  every  instance,  Time 
has  made  all  things  right.  It  is  no  more  possible 
to  destroy  a  man  like  William  Wallace  than  it 
was  to  destroy  Him  who  hung  upon  the  cross  at 
Calvary. 

When  she  was  at  Dumbarton,  Mary  was  as  near 
as  possible  to  France,  to  which  country  her  mother 
had  determined  to  send  her  if  it  seemed  advisable. 
The  necessity  presented  itself.  She  was  sis  years 
old,  and  her  education  must  be  begun.  Here  she 
took  leave  of  her  devoted  mother  and  sailed  away, 
to  exchange  for  a  time  the  thistle  of  Scotland  for 
tlie  lily  of  France.  Supposing  that  she  would  sail 
from  Leith,  Henry  Eighth  had  his  English  galleys 
out  intent  upon  her  capture.  But  the  vessel  with 
Mary  on  board  eluded  the  English  ships  that  lay  in 
wait  for  her. 

One  cannot  but  speculate  on  what  her  future 
would  have  been  had  she  been  captured  at  this  time 
by  the  English,  Would  her  life  have  been  less 
stormy,  her  death  less  tragic?  Not  so.  Edward,  the 
young  son  of  Henry  Eighth,  to  whom  she  would 
have  been  married,  might  perhaps  have  shown  her 
courtesy  and  consideration  while  he  lived,  but  after 
his  early  death  nothing  could  have  saved  her  from 


68  Royal  Women 

the  jealousy  and  fear  of  Mary  Tudor.  There 
would  have  been  the  same  quarrel,  for  the  same 
reason,  between  herself  and  Elizabeth.  Her  expe- 
rience in  her  English  prison  would  only  have  been 
hastened,  and  would  have  ended  on  the  scaffold  just 
the  same.  Tower  Hill  would  have  anticipated 
Fotheringay.  She  would  have  missed  her  happy 
days  in  France.  She  would  have  lost  her  earthly 
immortality,  and  history  would  have  been  deprived 
of  its  most  picturesque  and  romantic  figure. 

The  vessel  with  Mary  on  board  landed  at  Ros- 
coff,  a  little  port  in  Finistere,  in  Brittany,  three 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Paris.  It  is  a  port 
unknown  save  to  the  fishermen  along  the  coast,  and 
to  them  it  is  known  as  a  place  from  which  to  stay 
away  —  a  rendezvous  of  smugglers  and  pirates.  To 
this  port  also  came  Charles  Edward  Stuart,  the 
young  Pretender,  whom  the  Scotch  people  affec- 
tionately called  "  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,"  after  his 
hapless  venture  in  Scotland. 

When  we  recall  the  sorrows  of  Mary  Stuart's 
life,  it  is  pleasing  to  remember  that  it  held  one 
period  of  uninterrupted  sunshine.  From  the  day 
of  her  landing  at  Roscoff  until  the  death  of  her 
young  husband  necessitated  her  return  to  Scotland, 
she  knew  not  a  care.  The  court  of  France  was  the 
most  corrupt  in  Europe,  but  her  life  there  was 
unaffected  by  it.     She  spent  her  early  years  in  the 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  69 

convent  over  which  her  maternal  grandmother, 
Antoinette  de  Bourbon,  presided,  and  which  was 
noted  for  its  purity.  At  St.  Germain  her  betrothal 
to  her  cousin  took  place  —  and  how  many  faces 
afterward  famed  in  history  gathered  at  that  cere- 
mony !  There  were  Henry  Second  and  Catherine 
di  Medicis,  his  queen,  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine, 
the  Duke  of  Guise,  the  little  boys  who  later  were 
to  become  Francis  Second,  Charles  Ninth,  and 
Henry  Third,  and  that  very  ugly  little  fellow, 
Prince  Henry  of  Navarre,  aftenvard  Henry 
Fourth,  perhaps  the  greatest  king  France  ever 
knew. 

On  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  April,  1558,  Mary 
was  married  to  her  cousin,  Francis  de  Valois,  eldest 
son  of  the  king  of  France.  The  wedding  took 
place  in  the  great  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  All 
the  nobility  of  the  ancient  regime  surrounded  the 
young  bride  on  her  wedding  day.  She  was  truly 
loved  by  all.  Even  Catherine  di  Medicis,  the 
austere,  who  afterwards  cherished  a  deadly  enmity 
toward  Mary  Stuart,  said,  "  She  has  turned  all  our 
lieads  —  this  little  rose  of  Scotland  —  to  say  noth- 
ing of  our  hearts."  Old  Notre  Dame  has  witnessed 
many  ceremonies,  christenings,  weddings,  corona- 
tions, services  for  the  dead,  and  one  cannot  think 
of  Mary  Stuart's  wedding  day  without  being 
touched  with  the  remembrance  of  that  other  serv- 


70  Royal  Women 

ice  —  a  service  of  sorrow  and  tears  in  memory  of 
her  after  the  tragedy  at  Fotheringay. 

Mary  was  now  sixteen  years  old,  and  the  occa- 
sion of  her  marriage  to  Francis  was  the  beginning 
of  her  quarrel  with  Elizabeth  of  England.  The 
king  of  France  had  assumed  for  her  on  that  day, 
in  her  name,  the  Coat  of  Arms  of  England.  Mary 
was  not  consulted.  She  was  the  victim  of  circum- 
stances. Elizabeth  demanded  an  apology.  Mary 
made  it  —  for  something  which  was  not  her  fault. 
Elizabeth  went  further.  She  demanded  the  restora- 
tion of  Calais,  which  had  been  taken  from  England 
by  the  Duke  of  Guise  during  her  sister  Mary's 
reign.  The  French  commissioner  was  stung  by  her 
insolence  into  replying,  "We  are  quite  wilhng  to 
restore  Calais  to  the  queen  of  England,  whom  we 
take  to  be  Mary  Stuart."  Word  was  borne  to  the 
Court  of  Elizabeth  that  Mary  had  said  that  she 
hoped  to  be  queen  of  England  before  long.  Think 
not  that  the  daughter  of  Henry  Eighth  forgot  any 
of  these  things  when  Mary  fell  into  her  power. 

One  day  a  great  change  came  to  the  royal  house 
of  France.  The  whole  court,  in  merry  mood,  was 
watching  a  tournament  in  the  courtyard,  when 
suddenly  all  were  startled  by  a  cry  from  Catherine 
di  Mcdicis,  the  queen.  A  moment  more  and  Mary 
Stuart  was  no  longer  the  wife  of  the  Dauphin.  She 
was  Queen  of  France  and  Navarre.    Henry  Second 


IX! 


ffi 


?'  <    I 


■i  , 


K    ) 


M«?7y  Queen  of  Scots  71 

had  been  killed  in  mock  combat  in  the  courtyard, 
and  then  began  that  bitter  enmity  of  Catherine  di 
Medicis  for  Mary  Stuart,  an  enmity  which  pursued 
her  till  the  end  of  her  life  and  yet  was  not  powerful 
enough  to  record  one  word  of  slander  against  her 
while  she  lived  in  France.  One  may  rest  assured 
that  Mary's  life  in  France  was  blameless.  The  evil 
eyes  of  that  licentious  court  would  have  laid  bare 
her  secrets  had  her  life  held  any.  Read  the  history 
of  France  during  the  reign  of  Henry  Second  and 
you  will  understand  why  John  Knox  and  the 
Scottish  Reformers  objected  to  that  country  as  a 
home  for  their  little  queen. 

In  the  minds  of  the  French  people  it  is  the  illicit 
loves  of  their  kings  that  linger  longest.  If  you 
visit  those  royal  abodes  today  and  ask  about  Mary 
Stuart,  you  will  find  that  they  know  nothing  fur- 
ther about  her  than  that  she  was  for  a  short  time 
the  wife  of  the  young  king,  Francis  Second.  But 
they  will  talk  for  hours  about  the  beautiful  Diana 
of  Poitiers,  the  favorite  of  Henry  Second,  who  wore 
her  colors  when  he  rode  to  his  death,  or  of  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees,  who  at  a  word  from  Henry  Fourth  for- 
sook her  lover  on  the  eve  of  their  marriage  and 
followed  the  king,  and  who  died  a  dreadful  death 
from  poison;  of  lovely  Louise  de  la  Fayette, 
for  whom  Louis  Thirteenth  would  have  sacrificed 
his  kingdom;  of  Louise  de  la  Valliere,  the  gentle. 


72  Royal  Women 

the  charming,  the  adored  of  Louis  Fourteenth,  for 
a  time ;  of  Madame  de  Montespan  and  Madame  de 
Maintenon  who  supplanted  her  in  the  wavering 
affections  of  Le  Grand  Monarque;  of  the  various 
and  numerous  favorites  of  Louis  Fifteenth,  espe- 
cially the  notorious  Comtesse  du  Barri.  Mary's 
life  of  innocence  has  left  no  trace,  but  the  memory 
of  these  beautiful  sinners  is  as  abiding  as  though 
carved  in  stone. 

After  Mary's  marriage  only  two  short  years 
went  bj'.  Francis,  the  young  king,  grew  frailer 
and  frailer.  So  fearful  was  he  of  his  terrible 
mother  that  he  dared  not  interfere  with  her  plans. 
One  day  she  called  her  court  about  her  and  com- 
pelled them  to  witness  the  slaughter  of  the  Hugue- 
nots. The  3'oung  king  and  queen  were  terrified. 
Mary  fainted,  but  when  she  was  restored  was 
placed  again  in  her  chair  by  Catherine's  orders. 
Francis  rose  to  take  her  away.  "  Sit  down,  my 
son,"  said  his  mother;  "I  command  you  to  re- 
main.   Teach  your  wife  the  duty  of  a  sovereign." 

For  once  the  young  king  asserted  himself.  "  You 
will  pardon  mc,  Madame,"  he  answered.  "  Govern 
my  kingdom  and  slay  my  subjects  if  you  will.  I 
am  powerless  to  prevent  you.  But  I  myself  will 
judge  of  what  is  seemly  for  my  wife." 

Mary  was  led  away,  but  the  strain  had  been  too 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  73 

much  for  Francis.  Rapidly  he  pined  and  died. 
No  physician  could  be  found  who  could  cure  a 
nameless  malady.  Catherine  exulted  that  she  was 
once  more  mistress  of  France.  Mary  knew  that 
her  days  in  that  fair  land  were  numbered.  At  the 
time  of  her  marriage  to  Francis  she  had  been 
created  Duchess  of  Tourraine.  She  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  retain  this  title  and  remain  in  France. 
But  her  uncles  of  Lorraine  and  Guise  were  ambi- 
tious. They  had  watched  over  her  childhood  in 
France,  had  stood  in  the  position  of  parents  to  her. 
They  insisted  that  she  return  to  her  native  land 
and  assume  the  crown  and  the  royal  obligations 
which  were  hers  by  inheritance. 

Mary  dreaded  the  bleak  and  barren  hills  of  Scot- 
land as  a  living  tomb.  She  dreaded  the  return  to  a 
people  to  whom  she  had  become  a  stranger,  whose 
religious  faith  she  could  not  share.  But  there 
seemed  no  escape.  So,  sad  and  disconsolate,  a 
widow  at  eighteen,  she  sailed  from  Calais.  She 
stood  on  the  deck  and  saw  through  a  mist  of  tears 
the  fast  -  receding  coast  of  France.  As  Henry 
Eighth  had  tried  to  capture  her  when  she  sailed 
to  France  eleven  years  before,  so  Elizabeth  made 
the  same  attempt  on  her  return;  but  the  fog 
wrapped  closely  around  and  protected  her  all  the 
way. 


74  Royal  Women 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  depressing  than 
Mary's  entrance  into  Scotland.  Her  horses  were 
captured  by  the  English.  She  and  her  ladies  were 
compelled  to  mount  such  sorry-looking  nags  as 
could  be  obtained.  The  way  to  Edinburgh  lay 
deep  in  mud.  Her  French  attendants  laughed  at 
the  wretchedness  of  the  scene.  The  rain  poured 
down.  "The  city  was  hidden  from  my  sight," 
said  Mary.  "  Even  the  rocks  wept  bitter  tears  on 
my  return." 

She  spent  her  first  night  at  Holyrood.  The 
interior  was  dreary  and  cheerless.  Carpets  were 
unknown.  The  damp  stone  corridors  and  gloomy 
chambers  were  strewn  with  rushes.  Her  elegant 
attendants,  fresh  from  the  splendors  of  the  court 
of  the  Valois,  showed  their  wonder  and  dismay 
on  their  faces.  The  good  people  of  Edinburgh 
assembled  to  do  her  honor,  and  played  upon  their 
bagpipes  the  whole  night  long,  making  sleep 
impossible.  During  the  long  hours  of  that  night 
Mary  realized  as  never  before  the  difficulties  to 
which  she  had  returned.  Perhaps  through  the 
darkness  she  saw  the  gloomy  figures  of  Murray, 
Morton,  and  Ruthven,  and  heard  at  the  door  the 
voice  of  her  relentless  enemy,  John  Knox.  The 
first  chapter  in  her  life  was  ended.  She  had  turned 
over  the  page  —  and  how  different  is  the  story 
written  on  the  other  side ! 


Holvrood  Castle 


Apartment  of  Mary  at  Holvrood 


Mar//  Queen  of  Seats  7-^ 

THE    SECOND    EPOCH 

When  ^lary  returned  to  Scotland  her  staunchest 
all}',  her  devoted  mother,  was  dead.  Gone,  indeed, 
were  all  those  who  had  guided  her  youth.  Around 
the  maturity  of  Elizabeth  of  England  clustered  all 
those  men  who  made  for  England  her  Golden  Age. 
Around  the  youth  of  Mary  of  Scotland  the  en- 
lightened men  were  few  and  far  between. 

Edinburgh  was  not  then  the  splendid  city  it  is 
now.  Like  so  many  of  the  old  towns,  once  quaint 
and  picturesque  and  stately,  it  has  become  modern. 
But  the  old  town,  where  once  it  clustered  between 
Edinburgh  Castle  and  Holyrood,  was  certainly  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  spots  on  earth.  The  rock 
on  which  Edinburgh  Castle  stands  was  occupied  as 
a  stronghold  by  the  Picts  many  centuries  before 
our  era.  Its  story  is  in  a  large  measure  the  history 
of  Scotland.  The  new  town  of  Edinburgh  is  quite 
a  modern  city,  but  the  old  town  is  dark  even  on 
bright  days.  In  wet  weather  it  fairly  weeps.  Per- 
haps its  tears  are  of  remorse  and  sorrow.  Scarce 
a  threshold  there  but  has  been  stained  with  murder. 
The  pavement  might  yet  be  slippery  with  blood  all 
the  way  from  Edinburgh  Castle  down  to  Holyrood. 

But  IVIary  brought  her  French  civilization  back 
to  Scotland  with  her.  It  was  not  long  till  Holy- 
rood  was  transformed.     Turkish  rugs  and  silken 


76  Royal  Women 

curtains  took  the  place  of  withered  rushes  and 
barren  windows.  All  the  splendid  things  she  had 
collected  while  Dauphiness  of  France  were  brought 
hither.  She  had  her  harp  and  her  pictures,  her 
embroidery  and  her  books,  beautiful  books  printed 
on  illuminated  vellum  and  richly  bound,  books  in 
Latin,  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  books  of  poetry 
and  romance,  history  and  chronicles,  books  of 
science  and  art  —  all  bearing  witness  to  her  educa- 
tion and  her  accomplishments.  Of  all  these  treas- 
ures there  is  now  no  trace  at  Holyrood.  All  have 
vanished.  They  are  scattered,  ruined,  destroyed. 
There  is  nothing  sadder  in  all  the  world  than  the 
ancient  royal  residences.  Here  at  Holyrood  the 
shadows  of  the  past  lie  thick  about  one,  and  he  sees 
in  fancy  the  fair  figures  of  the  beautiful  court 
flitting  to  and  fro.  The  apartments  are  musty 
and  dingy  and  dark  with  age.  They  ill  accord 
now  with  our  idea  of  magnificence.  The  arras  is 
faded  and  moth-eaten,  the  hanging  of  the  beds  in 
tatters.  The  pictures  look  down  from  their  black- 
ened frames  and  regard  you  in  ghostly  fashion.  As 
one  wanders  over  these  memory-haunted  spots,  he 
feels  as  the  poet  has  expressed  it: 

like  one  who  treads  alone 

Some  banquet  hall  deserted, 

Whose  lights  are  fled  and  garlands  dead, 

And  all  but  him  departed. 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  77 

We  are  telling  the  story  of  INIary  Stuart's  pri- 
vate life,  not  that  of  the  Reformation,  the  general 
history  of  Scotland,  its  battles,  uprisings,  insur- 
rections. One  or  two  things,  however,  must  be 
kept  in  mind.  The  fact  that  Mary  was  so  essen- 
tially French  was  a  great  thorn  in  the  Scotch  flesh. 
She  was  different  from  themselves,  and  she  could 
not  make  herself  otherwise  any  more  than  the 
leopard  can  change  its  spots.  The  tragedy  of  her 
life  was  due  to  two  things.  The  first  seems  trivial 
enough,  but  it  will  sometimes  extend  to  unmeasur- 
able  lengths.  It  was  jealousy  —  the  personal 
jealousy  of  the  vain,  coquettish,  admiration-loving, 
unmarried  queen  of  England,  who  was  no  longer  in 
her  youth,  for  the  lovable,  affectionate,  sweet- 
natured,  still-youthful  queen  of  Scotland,  who  was 
the  mother  of  a  son.  The  other  cause  was  the 
great  religious  upheaval  —  the  Reformation.  The 
tempest  gathered  and  broke  over  Mary  Stuart's 
head,  and  was  the  greatest  struggle  in  her  troubled 
career.  The  two  elements  at  war  could  no  more 
mix  than  can  oil  and  water,  and  the  right  and  wrong 
of  the  matter  is  a  question  every  man  will  settle  for 
himself.  In  order  to  understand  things  rightly, 
we  should  have  to  go  back  through  the  four  cen- 
turies to  the  conditions  as  they  then  existed,  and 
that  is  impossible.  All  we  can  do  now  is  to  accept 
the  verdict  which  history  has  written.    The  battle  was 


78  Royal  Women 

to  the  strong.  To  the  victor  belonged  the  spoils. 
Like  everyone  else  who  has  a  faith,  Mary  clung 
to  hers.  She  was  French,  therefore  Catholic. 
Nothing  could  change  her. 

Volumes  have  been  written  about  the  love  affairs 
of  Mary  Stuart.  She  had  but  one.  Her  youthful 
marriage  to  Francis  Second  was  a  love  affair  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  The  rest  were  royal 
episodes. 

Shortly  after  her  return  to  Scotland  there  had 
come  from  France  in  the  suite  of  the  Marshal  D'Am- 
ville  a  romantic,  impressionable  young  man  with  a 
love  for  music  and  poetry  in  his  soul.  He  formed 
a  passionate  attachment  for  the  queen  and  followed 
wherever  she  went.  Mary  smiled  upon  him,  as 
was  her  custom  with  everyone,  not  supposing  that 
his  admiration  was  different  from  that  of  her  other 
followers.  On  one  occasion  he  presented  her  with 
a  volume  of  his  poems  and  she  gave  him  a  hand- 
some horse  in  return.  Misinterpreting  her  gracious- 
ness,  he  fell  madly  in  love  with  her,  lost  all  pru- 
dence and  self-control,  in  fact  went  almost  mad. 
One  night  the  queen's  ladies  discovered  him,  armed 
with  dagger  and  sword,  under  her  bed.  Mary 
pitied  him  and  would  not  allow  him  to  be  punished 
until  he  had  committed  a  second  similar  offense. 
This  time  the  news  of  his  wild  folly  reached  the 
ears  of  the  council  and  provoked  the  members  of 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  79 

that  body  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  beheaded  in 
the  market-place  at  St.  Andrews.  This  young  man 
was  Pierre  de  Chastelard,  and  the  episode  of  his 
unfortunate  love  for  Mary  has  been  the  theme  of 
many  an  artist  and  poet. 

The  Queen  of  Scots  realized  that  there  was  no 
way  in  which  she  could  so  strengthen  her  ow^n  posi- 
tion and  win  a  point  over  her  English  cousin  and 
adversary  as  to  marry  again.  If  she  could  establish 
the  succession  in  Scotland,  all  would  be  well.  Many 
were  the  suitors  who  presented  themselves.  Eliza- 
beth would  have  liked  to  select  Mary's  husband  for 
her.  She  even  offered  her  her  own  prime  favorite, 
Lord  Leicester,  but  Mary  refused  him  with  scorn. 
At  last  she  married  her  cousin,  Henry  Stuart,  Lord 
Darnley,  a  union  which,  like  everything  else  con- 
nected with  her  life  from  this  time  on,  proved 
disastrous.  Damley  was  a  mere  youth.  He  was 
the  next  lineal  heir,  after  Mary  herself,  to  the 
crown  of  England.  He  was  wild  and  foolish  and 
vain  and  stubborn,  a  past  master  in  the  art  of 
making  trouble  wherever  he  went.  From  the  day 
of  the  wedding  the  unbroken  succession  of  sorrow 
and  suffering  which  were  to  end  in  nineteen  years 
of  imprisonment  and  death  began.  But  the  mar- 
riage to  Darnley  was  a  blow  to  Elizabeth.  Mary 
could  now  defy  her,  and  her  position  as  claimant  to 
the  English  throne  was  greatly  strengthened. 


80  Royal  Women 

What  a  change  came  over  Mary's  Hf e  and  charac- 
ter after  this  ill-fated  marriage !  She  was  now  a 
beautiful,  accomplished  woman  of  twenty-two,  and 
was  rapidly  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  world 
unrivaled  by  any  woman  of  her  time.  Darnley 
demanded  to  reign  jointly  with  her,  but  she  had 
learned  already  that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted. 
Those  in  power  about  her  saw  in  Damley's  weak- 
ness a  chance  to  get  things  into  their  own  hands, 
and  an  episode  trivial  in  itself  gave  them  the 
opportunity. 

One  day  not  long  after  she  had  returned  to  her 
own  country,  Mary  had  a  mass  said  in  the  chapel 
at  Holyrood  for  her  young  husband,  Francis  of 
Valois.  During  the  service  she  heard,  ringing  clear 
and  powerful,  an  exquisite,  matchless  voice.  She 
inquired  who  the  singer  was  and  learned  that  he 
was  an  Italian  named  David  Rizzio,  who  had  come 
from  Italy  with  the  Ambassador  from  Piedmont. 
Mary  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  Rizzio 
was  admitted  to  her  presence.  On  acquaintance 
she  found  him  to  be  a  man  of  education.  He  could 
both  read  and  write,  which  few  of  the  Scottish 
nobles  could  do.  She  engaged  him  to  be  her  secre- 
tary, and  consequently  he  spent  much  time  in  her 
presence.  The  popular  belief  that  Rizzio  was 
young  and  handsome  and  that  Mary  was  deeply 
in  love  with  him  is  one  of  the  unfounded  fictions  of 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  81 

history.  He  was  nearly  fifty  years  old,  slightly 
lame,  and  not  at  all  good-looking.  His  sole  quali- 
ties lay  in  his  fine  voice  and  his  ability  as  a  secretary. 
It  was  easy  enough,  however,  for  the  conspira- 
tors to  convince  the  weak-minded  Darnley  that  his 
honor  was  at  stake,  and  although  he  knew  that 
Mary  was  soon  to  become  a  mother  and  that  the 
hope  of  the  succession  lay  in  the  safe  birth  of  her 
child,  Darnley  himself,  accompanied  by  the  blood- 
thirsty Scotchmen,  entered  Holyrood  one  night, 
stealthily,  by  way  of  the  aisles  of  the  Abbey 
Church,  and  came  into  the  queen's  apartments, 
where  she  was  at  supper  with  her  ladies  and  Rizzio. 
Darnley  entered  first,  alone.  Like  Judas  of  old,  he 
went  to  his  wife  and  Jcissed  her.  Glancing  over  his 
shoulder  she  saw  his  followers  and  became  suspi- 
cious. She  demanded  the  reason  for  their  presence. 
They  wished  to  speak  to  her  secretary.  Alarmed, 
she  asked  Darnley  if  he  knew  their  purpose.  He 
lied.  He  said  he  did  not.  But  Rizzio  knew.  Like 
a  frightened  animal,  he  threw  himself  at  the  queen's 
feet  and  clung  to  her  skirts.  "Fear  not,"  said 
Mary.  "  My  husband  will  never  allow  harm  to 
come  to  you  in  my  presence."  They  rushed  at 
him,  overturning  the  table,  and  as  he  was  behind  the 
queen,  in  order  to  accomplish  their  work,  they 
pierced  him  with  their  daggers  over  her  shoulder, 
while  Darnley   held   her   hands.      When   life   was 


82  Boy  at  Women 

extinct  they  dragged  him  out  into  the  hall,  stabbed 
him  with  their  daggers  more  than  fifty  times,  and 
then  flung  the  bleeding  body  down  in  the  doorway. 
Mary  had  fainted,  but  when  she  recovered  and 
learned  that  Rizzio  was  dead,  she  exclaimed,  "  Fare- 
well to  tears.  Think  we  now  only  on  vengeance!" 
Of  love  for  Darnley  there  had  been  little  enough  in 
Mary's  heart,  and  now  that  she  was  convinced  of  his 
complicity  in  this  most  atrocious  deed,  she  was  filled 
with  loathing  of  him.  A  few  months  later,  in  the 
Castle  of  Edinburgh,  Mary  gave  birth  to  her  son, 
James  Sixth  of  Scotland,  who  afterward  became 
James  First  of  England  —  a  man  who  was  craven 
and  a  coward,  whose  kingly  word  even  was  not  to 
be  trusted.  Who  shall  question  the  power  of 
heredity  when  he  remembers  the  character  of 
James  First.''  Who,  remembering  the  condition  of 
the  queen  when  Rizzio  was  murdered  in  her  pres- 
ence, and  meditating  upon  the  probable  influence 
such  a  tragedy  would  have,  not  only  on  herself 
but  on  her  unborn  child  —  remembering  also  that 
cowardice  and  deceit  and  stubbornness  full  of  mis- 
chief came  into  the  Stuart  family  with  this  very 
child  —  shall  say  that  the  effect  was  not  due  to  the 
cause?  It  is  a  strange  fact,  also,  that  for  some 
unaccountable  reason  there  springs  often  from  just 
such  vices  of  character  as  these  a  sensitiveness  of 
feeling  which  responds  feverishly  to  art  and  beauty 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  83 

in  its  every  form  and  manifestation.  Nothing  ever 
has,  nothing  ever  will  obliterate  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  the  Stuarts.  How  artistic  and  beautiful 
they  were  —  James  First,  James  Second,  Charles 
First,  Charles  Second,  Arabella  Stuart,  and  Queen 
Anne !  And  yet,  might  not  one,  if  he  tried,  see  the 
shadow  of  Rizzio  behind  the  handsome  figure  of 
Charles  First  when  he  stood  on  the  scaffold  at 
Whitehall.? 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  thought  of  how  she 
could  best  be  revenged  engrossed  Mary's  mind. 
Darnley  went  to  Glasgow,  and  while  there  con- 
tracted the  smallpox.  Mary  arranged  that  he 
should  occupy  an  unused  house  near  the  castle, 
called  Kirk-o'-Field,  afterward  the  site  of  Edin- 
burgh University;  and  here  we  must  turn  aside 
from  the  story  of  Darnley  for  a  moment  to  speak 
of  the  man  who  wrote  by  far  the  saddest  chapter  in 
Mary's  tempestuous  life,  James  Hepburn,  Earl  of 
Bothwell. 

Mary  wrote  a  letter  to  Maitland  of  Lethington, 
perhaps  the  most  influential  man  in  her  Council, 
telling  him  that  she  was  determined  to  punish  the 
murderers  of  Rizzio.  He  showed  the  letter  to 
Bothwell,  who  was  a  nobleman  from  the  Border 
and  a  ruffian  noted  for  his  villainies  even  there.  He 
owned  a  castle  —  a  fitting  place  for  such  as  he  — 
called  the  Hermitage,  and  to  its  gloomy  fastnesses 


84  Royal  Women 

he  used  to  fly  when  he  was  pursued.  In  its  dungeons 
many  a  hapless  captive  languished  and  died.  Both- 
well,  when  he  learned  of  Mary's  intention,  took-  the 
law  into  his  own  hand.  It  will  always  be  a  ques- 
tion—  an  unanswerable  question  —  whether  Mary's 
determination  to  punish  Rizzio's  murderers  in- 
cluded the  assassination  of  her  husband  or  not. 
That  Bothwell  saw  the  opportunity  to  be  rid  of 
him  is  undeniable.  So  one  night  he  kept  watch 
till  after  Mary  had  paid  Darnley  a  visit  and  had" 
returned  to  the  castle,  to  be  present  at  the  wedding 
of  one  of  her  maids.  Suddenly  the  air  was  rent 
by  a  terrific  explosion.  Kirk  -  o'  -  Field  was  de- 
stroyed, and  in  an  adjoining  field,  in  their  night 
clothes,  with  no  marks  whatever  of  violence  upon 
their  bodies,  Darnley  and  his  valet  were  found 
dead.  Bothwell  had  blown  up  the  house  with  gun- 
powder, and  the  fact  that  the  bodies  were  in  no 
way  mutilated  gave  rise  to  the  suspicion  that 
Darnley  was  first  strangled  to  death.  His  fate 
secured  for  him  a  certain  degree  of  compassion, 
but  there  was  no  redeeming  feature  in  his  character. 
Although  Marj^  had  suffered  much  at  his  hands, 
she  shut  herself  up  in  the  castle  after  his  death, 
apparently  worn  out  by  anxiety,  some  say  remorse. 
She  went  through  the  form  of  punishing  those  con- 
cerned. Bothwell  was  acquitted,  and  to  celebrate 
the  fact  he  gave  a  banquet.     When  his  followers 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  85 

were  under  the  influence  of  drink  he  compelled 
them  to  sign  a  paper,  drawn  up  in  favor  of  him- 
self, in  which  they  declared  their  belief  in  his 
innocence,  their  conviction  that  the  queen  should 
remarry,  and  that  the  most  desirable  husband  to  be 
found  was  himself.  One  more  desperate  measure 
was  necessary  to  crown  an  act  which  has  no  parallel 
even  in  Scotland.  Triumphant  on  every  hand, 
master  of  the  realm  in  deed  if  not  in  name,  feared 
by  those  who  did  not  hate  him,  untrammeled  bj-^ 
any  sense  of  honor,  uninfluenced  by  pity,  and 
unaff"ected  by  shame,  Bothwell  did  not  hesitate  to 
take  the  final  step.  He  knew  the  woman  with  whom 
he  had  to  deal,  and  that  to  off^er  his  suit  would  be 
only  to  be  rejected  with  scorn.  So  he  cast  aside  all 
remnants  of  caution  and  decency  and  set  himself  to 
compromise  Mary  so  hopelessly  that  she  would  be 
compelled  to  marry  him. 

With  a  force  of  a  thousand  men,  he  set  out, 
ostensibly  to  quell  a  riot  on  the  Border.  Instead, 
he  lay  in  wait  for  Mary  and  her  little  party  as 
they  were  returning  from  Stirling.  He  seized  her 
horse's  bridle  and  hurried  her  off"  to  Dunbar  Castle. 
No  resistance  was  possible.  For  ten  days  he  kept 
her  prisoner  there,  refusing  to  allow  her  to  see 
even  her  own  servants.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
broken  in  spirit  and  overcome  with  shame  and 
melancholy,  he  took  her,  closely  guarded,  to  Edin- 


86  Royal  Women 

burgh.  As  the}'  approached  the  town  she  turned 
her  horse's  head  toward  Holyrood,  but  Bothwell 
seized  the  bridle  and  led  the  horse  up  High  Street 
to  Edinburgh  Castle.  Already  he  had  had  the 
banns  published  twice  before  he  allowed  her  to 
return,  and  a  few  days  later,  weeping  as  though 
her  heart  would  break,  Mary  was  married  to  Both- 
well  in  the  Council  Chamber  at  Holyrood.  Of  all 
the  acts  of  her  career,  this  has  been  most  bitterly 
denounced,  but  for  some  reason  all  have  seemed  to 
forget  that  she  was  helpless.  She  was  hopelessly 
compromised  already,  so  far  as  she  herself  was 
concerned.  There  was  nothing  left  for  Mary  to 
do  but  to  marry  Bothwell.  It  was  her  only  hope 
of  saving  either  her  life  or  her  kingdom ;  but  even 
in  a  country  inured  to  shocks  the  action  caused 
horror.  The  people  rose  against  her,  and  Bothwell, 
coward  that  he  was,  fled,  leaving  Mary  to  face  the 
storm.  She  had  to  endure  the  gibes  and  insults  of 
the  soldiers  and  the  populace.  The  people  who 
had  idolized  her  now  clamored  for  her  life.  Escape 
was  necessary,  and  the  few  followers  she  had 
resolved  upon  the  chance  of  smuggling  her  out  of 
the  city.  Secretly  they  conveyed  her  to  the  old 
Castle  of  Loch  Leven,  where  her  condition  was 
about  as  unhappy  as  it  could  well  be.  She  was 
given  her  choice  between  a  trial,  a  divorce  from 
Bothwell,  or  abdication.     She  yielded  to  the  inevi- 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  87 

table.  She  was  afraid  of  Bothwell.  From  a  trial 
she  knew  she  could  not  get  justice,  so  she  was  forced 
to  abdicate  the  crown  and  to  appoint  as  regent  her 
half-brother,  Murra}',  a  man  whom  she  despised, 
and  with  reason.  His  mother,  who  was  in  a  way 
Mary's  jailor  at  Loch  Leven,  had  been  a  favorite 
of  James  Fifth,  Mary's  own  father,  and  Murray' 
was  the  son  of  that  illicit  love.  Now  she  was  forced 
to  appoint  him  guardian  for  her  own  little  son. 

To  this  period  of  Mary's  life  belongs  the  story 
of  the  Casket  Letters.  After  the  death  of  Darnley 
a  little  casket  was  unearthed  from  among  Mary's 
possessions,  and  it  was  said  to  have  been  given  to 
her  by  Bothwell.  It  was  filled  with  love  letters 
which  she  was  supposed  to  have  written  him  before 
the  murder  of  Darnle}-.  It  is  now  generally  con- 
ceded that  the  casket  letters  were  forged,  but, 
whether  genuine  or  not,  they  played  a  great  part 
in  ]\Iary's  life.  The  chief  thing  in  favor  of  their 
genuineness  was  that  they  were  written  in  beautiful 
French;  but  there  is  nothing  to  prove  that  Mary 
knew  much  of  Bothwell  until  after  Darnley's  death, 
and  her  evident  fear  and  horror  of  him  after  tlfis 
sad  experience  will  scarcely  allow  the  impartial  to 
believe,  in  the  first  place,  that  she  wrote  the  letters 
at  all;  in  the  second,  that  if  she  did  write  them 
they  would  be  in  her  possession  Instead  of  his.  It 
is  well  known,  however,  that  It  was  on  account  of 


88  Royal  Women 

these  letters  that  jNIary  would  not  stand  trial.  She 
knew  that  they  would  be  produced  in  evidence,  and 
genuine  or  forged,  would  work  to  her  disadvantage. 
Soon  after  this  Bothwell  passed  out  of  Mary's  life. 
His  career  was  crowned  by  madness  and  death  in 
foreign  captivity,  and  his  marriage  to  Mary  was 
dissolved  by  the  Pope  at  her  request. 

Mary  made  friends  with  the  young  son  of  the 
keeper  and  through  him  escaped  from  Loch  Leven. 
One  night  while  the  family  was  at  dinner  he  laid 
his  napkin  softly  on  the  keys  and  picked  them  up. 
Then  he  let  Mary  out  and  locked  the  family  in.  He 
assisted  her  into  a  boat  and  rowed  her  across  the 
lake.  Once  she  was  free,  she  determined  to  strike 
one  more  blow  for  the  throne  she  had  been  forced 
to  renounce.  There  were  still  many  to  be  found 
who  upheld  the  Catholic  faith  and  the  Stuart  cause. 
Six  thousand  men  rallied  to  her  standard,  but 
Murray  was  too  powerful.  From  the  towers  of 
Cathcart  Castle,  ]\Iary  saw  her  ami}'  routed.  Once 
more  she  fled,  trying  to  reach  Dumbarton,  but  her 
lords  implored  her  to  leave  the  country.  So  she 
altered  her  course,  and  riding  hard,  reached  Dun- 
drennan  Abbey,  almost  on  the  shore  of  the  Solway, 
where  she  spent  her  last  night  on  the  soil  of  Scot- 
land. The  next  day  she  crossed  the  Solway  Firth 
in  a  fishing-vessel  and  landed  at  Cumberland,  put- 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  89 

ting  herself  into  the  realm  of  that  other  monarch 
in  whose  power  it  was  to  destroy  her. 

A  hunted  fugitive,  saddened  and  overwhelmed  by 
her  misfortunes,  Mary  wrote  her  English  cousin 
asking  for  mercy  and  protection.  Elizabeth 
wavered,  but  only  for  a  moment.  Guided  by  the 
advice  of  her  councilors,  who  saw  in  the  fugitive 
queen,  now  actually  in  England,  a  greater  menace 
than  when  she  was  in  Scotland,  she  directed  that 
]\Iary  be  treated  with  respect  but  kept  in  safe 
custody.  Mary  begged  a  personal  interview. 
Elizabeth  declined  to  grant  it,  giving  as  a  ridicu- 
lous reason  that  Mary  was  still  under  suspicion  of 
having  had  a  hand  in  the  murder  of  Darnley.  So 
Mary  became  a  prisoner,  and  was  to  remain  so  the 
rest  of  her  life. 

The  years  went  by.  Mary  was  removed  first  to 
Tutbury,  thence  to  Wingfield,  thence  to  Chatsworth, 
thence  to  Sheffield.  In  every  case  she  was  poorly 
cared  for.  The  apartments  were  cold  and  bleak 
and  damp,  and  her  health  began  to  give  way.  She 
grew  desperate.  The  English  queen  watched  in- 
cessantly for  some  opportunity  to  entangle  her  in 
something  for  which  she  could  be  lawfully  tried 
and  punished,  and  at  last  the  chance  was  hers. 
Mary  was  implicated  in  the  plot  of  Anthony 
Babbington    to    kill    Elizabeth  —  an    implication 


90  Boyal  Women 

proved  beyond  all  doubt  by  the  seizure  of  the 
correspondence.  Mary  was  worn  out  with  the  long 
struggle,  and,  whereas  formerly  she  would  have 
gone  to  any  length  to  keep  the  peace  with  Eliza- 
beth, now  she  would  have  killed  her  if  she  could. 
While  the  enormity  of  the  crime  of  murder  is 
always  the  same,  under  all  the  circumstances  Mary 
should  not  be  judged  too  harshly.  She  was  clutch- 
ing at  a  straw.  Every  one  of  us  will  do  desperate 
things  when  we  are  worn  to  the  bone  with  suffering 
and  are  finally  pushed  to  the  wall.  Mary  had 
afforded  enough  evidence  against  herself  now  to 
be  punished.  She  was  arrested  and  her  prison  was 
changed  once  more,  to  the  Castle  of  Fotheringaj', 
in  Northamptonshire.  For  eighteen  years  she  had 
gone  from  prison  to  prison,  but  when  the  gray 
walls  of  Fotheringay  were  before  her  she  knew  it 
would  be  the  last  stopping-place  on  her  journey. 

The  years  of  confinement  had  told  upon  the 
Queen  of  Scots.  The  tall,  proud  carriage  was  bent 
and  worn.  The  sweet  face  bore  signs  of  ceaseless 
suffering.  The  brown  hair  was  turning  gray.  But 
truly  her  pride  and  her  spirit  defied  the  ravages  of 
time.  Unconquered  she  was  when  she  threw  her- 
self upon  Elizabeth's  mercy.  Two  decades  had  not 
crushed  her.  She  still  looked  into  the  dark  future 
with  a  stout  heart.  During  all  the  years  of  her 
captivity  she  had  met  insult  with  insult,  pride  with 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  91 

greater  pride.  If  she  wished  a  thing  she  demanded 
it  as  a  right,  not  as  a  concession.  She  had  fought 
a  long,  hard  fight.  She  was  vanquished.  None 
knew  it  better  than  she,  yet  she  scorned  to  beg 
for  hfe. 

The  commissioners  were  appointed  to  try  her. 
She  dechned  to  be  tried,  saying  that  as  she  was  not 
an  EngHsh  woman  she  could  not  be  lawfully  tried 
in  England.  Finally,  however,  she  agreed  to  go  to 
the  Council  Hall.  She  was  formally  charged  with 
conspiracy  to  kill  Elizabeth.  Sentence  of  death 
was  passed  upon  her.  Parliament  approved.  All 
that  was  necessary  now  was  the  signature  of  the 
queen.  Mary  heard  all  this  undismayed,  and 
thanked  God  that  her  long  captivity  was  about 
to  end. 

Several  weeks  went  by.  Elizabeth  was  shuffling 
with  the  death  warrant.  Shut  up  in  her  castle, 
INIary  had  heard  absolutely  no  news  from  outside 
since  the  trial.  A  dreadful  silence  seemed  to  haunt 
the  place.  The  seeming  lull,  telling  neither  of  life 
nor  death,  was  worse  than  the  certainty  of  death 
itself.  Countenances  were  either  awe-struck  or 
heedless.  Her  jailor  knew  not  whether  to  treat 
her  as  a  queen  or  a  criminal. 

Finally  there  came  a  day  in  November  when  she 
was  told  that  Elizabeth  had  given  orders  to  her 
jailors  to  treat  her  as  one  dead,  showing  her  no 


92  Boyal  Women 

honors  or  consideration.  She  rephed  that  she  was 
a  queen  b}'  birth,  and  that  no  amount  of  ill  treat- 
ment could  alter  that  fact.  The  keeper  tore  down 
the  Coat-of-Arms  of  Scotland  which  hung  above 
her  bed.  She  promptly  hung  her  crucifix  up  in  its 
place.  Weeks  and  weeks  followed,  weeks  of  un- 
broken silence,  no  tidings,  either  good  or  bad,  from 
outside.  Mary  knew  not  what  to  think  of  a  silence 
so  profound,  and  feared  that  they  meant  to  do 
away  with  her  by  means  of  dagger  or  poison.  She 
wrote  to  Elizabeth  expressing  this  fear,  asking  that 
she  might  be  executed  in  public  and  that  her  body 
might  be  sent  back  to  France  to  lie  in  consecrated 
ground.  This  letter,  written  one  might  say  on 
the  ver}^  steps  of  the  scaffold,  is  stamped  with  a 
supreme  sadness  and  is  full  of  dignity.  Elizabeth 
did  not  answer  that  letter.  She  could  not.  Things 
were  approaching  a  crisis.  An  unspeakable  uneasi- 
ness was  in  the  air.  The  public  mind  was  inflamed. 
The  people  were  weighed  down  with  secret  terror. 
There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  that  Mary  was  to 
be  put  to  death. 

At  last  the  Earls  of  Kent  and  Shrewsbury  sent 
word  one  day  that  they  wished  to  see  her.  Mary 
replied  that,  not  feeling  well,  she  had  not  risen  that 
day,  but  that  if  the  matter  did  not  admit  of  delay 
she  would  get  up  at  once.  On  receiving  their 
answer,  she  rose,  was  dressed  by  her  ladies,  and 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  93 

sent  word  that  she  was  waiting.  The  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury  informed  her  that  the  warrant  had 
been  signed  and  that  the  sentence  was  about  to  be 
carried  out.  Mary's  sole  reply  was  to  make  the 
sign  of  the  Cross.  When  they  had  departed  she 
began  to  settle  the  order  of  her  last  day.  She 
made  her  will,  wrote  a  letter  to  her  uncle,  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  paid  her  servants,  and  gave  them  letters 
of  discharge.  When  these  things  were  accom- 
plished she  said  there  was  nothing  more  for  her 
to  do.  Supper  was  served.  She  ate  little,  as  was 
her  custom.  Watching  and  anxiety  had  wearied 
her,  and  fearing  that  her  strength  might  forsake 
her,  she  went  to  bed.  She  fell  asleep,  and  those 
who  watched  beside  her  gave  evidence  that  her  last 
night  on  earth  was  peaceful,  untroubled  by  fear  or 
dreams. 

In  the  morning  she  rose  early,  and  when  the 
summons  came  she  was  ready.  Her  physician  threw 
himself  at  her  feet  and  said,  "  Madame,  Your 
Majesty  is  aware  of  our  affection,  also  that  it 
wrings  our  hearts  to  hand  you  over  to  your  enemies. 
We  will  gladly  follow  you,  but  ask  us  not  to  lead 
you  forth  to  death ! " 

"You  are  right,"  she  answered,  "and  faithful. 
I  myself  will  go  first." 

Although  the  beauty  of  her  youth  had  passed 
away   during  those   nineteen   years   of   captivity, 


94  Royal  Women 

although  the  torture  of  the  slowly  revolving  months 
had  crippled  her  body,  when  that  white-veiled 
figure  passed  into  the  great  hall  at  Fotheringay 
all  were  impressed  with  the  majesty  of  her  presence. 
She  had  been  but  twenty-six  years  old  when  she 
had  sought  refuge  and  found  a  prison  in  England. 
Now  she  was  forty-five  —  in  the  very  prime  of  life. 
When  her  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Guise,  heard  of  her 
sentence,  he  exclaimed,  "  She  will  know  how  to 
die ! "  That  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  During  her 
last  hours  she  spoke  frequently  of  her  youth  in 
France,  seemingly  forgetting  the  wretchedness 
which  followed.  She  prayed  for  her  son,  whom  she 
had  been  made  to  believe  had  forsaken  her,  and  for 
Scotland  always ! 

It  was  a  cold,  damp,  dark,  gloomy  morning  in 
February.  The  great,  shadowy  apartment  was 
made  more  somber  by  the  black  with  which  the 
walls  and  the  scaffold  were  draped.  The  only 
gleam  of  color  came  from  the  blood-red  suit  of 
the  executioner,  who  stood  sullenly  by  the  block, 
ax  in  hand.  No  sound  was  heard  save  the  footsteps 
of  the  grim  procession  as  it  passed  over  the  stone 
floor.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Mary's  attendants 
were  ordered  back  to  their  apartment.  She  asked 
why  they  might  not  accompan}'  her,  and  was  told 
it  was  feared  they  might  lose  their  self-control  and 
weep.     "  I  will  promise  for  them,"  she  answered, 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  95 

and  they  were  allowed  to  remain.  With  as  little 
ceremony  as  though  she  had  been  the  most  hardened 
criminal,  she  was  disrobed  in  the  presence  of  all 
those  men,  standing  before  them  in  short  skirt  and 
sleeveless  bodice.  According  to  the  ancient  custom, 
the  executioner  asked  forgiveness  for  what  he  was 
about  to  do.  Mary  began  to  say  in  Latin  the 
prayers  of  her  church,  with  which  she  was  so 
familiar,  and  even  those  who  thought  her  guilty 
could  not  keep  back  the  tears.  Her  eyes  were 
bandaged.  She  laid  her  head  upon  the  block.  The 
executioner  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  and  during 
the  pause  Mary  said,  in  a  voice  which  penetrated 
bo  the  farthest  corner  of  the  dark  hall,  "  Into  Thy 
hands,  O  Christ.  Into  Thy  hands!"  The  first 
stroke  of  the  ax  did  not  kill  her,  and  the  execu- 
tioner, furious  at  such  a  mishap,  drove  the  second 
into  the  block  so  deeply  that  the  ax  could  not  be 
extricated.  The  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  lifted  the 
severed  head  and  in  half-hearted  fashion  cried, 
"Long  live  Queen  Elizabeth!  So  perish  all  her 
enemies.    Amen." 

With  all  Mary's  faults,  the  people  never  ceased 
to  love  her.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  she  was 
executed  within  the  walls  because  of  the  fear  of  an 
uprising.  Fotheringay  was  to  witness  one  more 
scene  connected  with  its  illustrious  prisoner.  Six 
months  later,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  its  draw- 


96  Royal  Women 

bridge  was  lowered  and  portcullis  raised  to  permit 
the  passing  of  a  funeral  train  —  the  last  historic 
function  which  was  to  occur  within  its  walls.  By 
the  flickering  light  of  torches,  dimly  illuminating 
the  grim  old  stronghold,  followed  by  those  who  had 
remained  faithful,  and  by  the  poor,  into  whose  life 
she  had  entered  as  a  benediction,  all  that  was  mortal 
of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  passed  outward  from  the 
dream-haunted  prison  to  the  restful  peace  of  the 
cathedral  at  Peterborough.  James  Sixth,  with  all 
his  despicable  characteristics,  demanded  of  Eliza- 
beth a  fitting  resting-place  for  his  mother,  and 
when  he  was  king  himself  he  had  Fotheringay  torn 
down,  and  Mary's  body  was  removed  from  the 
cathedral  to  Westminster  Abbey,  where  it  of  rights 
belonged. 

Four  centuries  have  not  sufficed  to  set  at  rest  the 
fierce  and  seemingly  interminable  controversy  over 
the  character  and  reign  of  Mary  Stuart,  and  one  is 
quite  safe  in  assuming  that  four  centuries  from  now 
it  will  be  no  nearer  a  solution  than  at  present.  So 
long  as  there  is  a  Scotchman,  a  Frenchman,  an 
Englishman,  a  Catholic,  and  a  Protestant  on  earth, 
each  will  settle  the  question  for  himself. 

There  is  no  more  fascinating  pursuit  than  a  visit 
to  Scotland  for  the  purpose  of  following  up  the 
story  of  the  Queen  of  Scots  steps  by  step.  Over 
the  paths  she  trod,  and  through  those  royal  apart- 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  97 

ments,  now  dingy  with  age,  where  from  time  to  time 
she  dwelt,  the  lover  of  her  romantic  history  will 
walk  with  reverence.  Yet  not  even  in  this  manner 
may  her  story  best  be  learned.  He  who  delights  in 
History  as  expressed  in  Art  will  find  it  written  more 
plainly  in  her  portraits  —  in  the  change  which 
came  over  her  countenance  as  the  years  went  by. 

There  is  a  legend  that  one  of  the  ancients,  gazing 
for  the  first  time  upon  the  golden  Helen  of  Troy, 
cried  out : 

Was  this  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships 
And  burned  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium? 

So  in  studying  the  story  of  Mary  Stuart  we  may 
easily  ask  ourselves  this  same  question.  Was  this 
the  face? 

Her  hair  was  the  reddish-brown  characteristic  of 
the  Stuarts.  Her  eyebrows  were  arched  and  deli- 
cately pencilled.  Her  eyes  were  long  and  narrow 
and  somewhat  far  apart.  In  youth  her  face  wore 
an  expression  of  open-hearted  candor,  but  it 
changed  to  a  somewhat  sly  and  crafty  look  in  her 
later  years.  As  a  child  she  had  perfect  health. 
Her  color  was  fresh.  She  was  hardy  as  a  moun- 
taineer. During  her  life  in  France  all  her  por- 
traits show  the  frank,  open  countenance,  but  after 
the  death  of  her  young  husband  her  complexion 
changed    to    one    of    dazzling    pallor,    heightened 


98  Royal  Women 

perhaps  by  the  costume  of  white  mourning  she 
wore.  They  called  her  the  little  white  widow. 
It  was  not  until  after  her  marriage  with  Damley 
that  the  change  in  her  countenance  began.  The 
look  of  candor  disappeared.  She  was  becoming  a 
diplomat. 

It  is  the  unanimous  verdict  of  both  friend  and 
enemy  that  Mary  was  beautiful,  that  she  had  great 
personal  charm,  attractiveness  little  short  of  witch- 
cry.  But  she  was  a  creature  of  infinitely  changeful 
moods,  flashing  readily  from  laughter  to  tears. 
Her  beauty  was  of  that  elusive  sort  which  often 
baffles  not  only  the  painter  but  the  photographer. 
Something  seemed  to  stand  between  the  artist  and 
her  beauty.  Only  one  or  two  have  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  that  intangible  something  which  not 
infrequently'  makes  even  the  plainest  countenance 
radiant. 

If  we  compare  the  portraits  of  the  Queen  of 
Scots  which  were  made  before  her  imprisonment 
with  those  made  after  it  began  we  shall  find  our- 
selves asking  the  old  question  —  was  this  the  face? 
Was  this  the  face  which  caused  the  relentless  John 
Knox  to  say,  "  Our  young  queen  is  most  pleasing 
—  were  it  not  for  her  heresy  "  ?  Was  this  the 
face  which  made  her  foe,  Elizabeth  of  England, 
exclaim  gloomily,  "  There  is  something  divine  about 
my  cousin  Stuart's  face  " .''  Was  this  the  face  which 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  99 

caused  the  people  of  Edinburgh  to  call  out  as  she 
rode  through  the  street :  "  Heaven's  blessing  on 
that  sweet  face"?  Was  this  the  face  the  memory 
of  which  Avrung  the  cry  from  Chastelard  as  he 
stood  on  the  scaffold  at  St.  Andrews,  "  I  am  dying 
for  thee,  thou  cruel,  but,  ah!  the  fairest  queen  on 
earth"? 

It  is  in  the  portraits  painted  during  her  cap- 
tivity that  the  change  of  countenance  is  more 
noticeable.  Of  these  there  are  four.  One  is  a 
canvas  owned  by  the  Earl  of  Levin  and  Melville. 
In  this  the  face  has  taken  on  an  expression  of 
melancholy.  There  is  a  fascination  about  it,  a 
charm  which  is  irresistible.  It  is  an  altogether 
human  face  —  the  face  of  a  queen  who  looked  her 
part.  Another  was  made  during  her  confine- 
ment at  Sheffield,  and  is  known  as  the  Sheffield 
portrait.  It  is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire.  The  third  is  the  celebrated  por- 
trait owned  by  the  Earl  of  Morton  —  still  the 
same  face,  only  older  by  many  years,  sadder  by 
half  an  eternity.  Eighteen  years  of  captivity,  with 
all  that  goes  with  it,  have  done  their  work. 
The  fourth  was  painted  at  Fotheringay.  The 
end  is  already  in  sight.  It  is  a  face  altogether 
sad  and  thoughtful,  as  of  one  who  had  little  happi- 
ness to  look  back  upon  and  nothing  at  all  to  which 
to  look  forward.      Still  later  came  the  memorial 


100  Royal  Women 

portrait.  It  reveals  a  face  no  longer  beautiful, 
perhaps,  but  powerful  —  a  dignified,  majestic 
figure,  every   inch  a  queen. , 

On  the  walls  at  Abbotsford,  the  home  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  hangs  a  picture  of  Mary  Stuart 
which  all  the  world  should  see.  It  is  the  severed 
head  —  the  face  after  death.  No  words  of  tongue 
or  pen  can  tell  so  plainly  the  story  of  her  life  and 
suffering.  In  looking  at  it,  one  feels  instinctively 
that  she  has  found  in  death  "that  peace  which  the 
world  cannot  give." 

There  is  no  spot  in  that  great  cathedral  where 
rest  the  royal  dead  of  England  around  which 
romance  and  poetry  cluster  more  thickly  than  that 
where  the  Stuarts  lie  asleep.  In  a  tiny  space,  com- 
paratively, only  seven  by  twelve  feet  and  six  feet 
high,  are  packed  on  and  around  the  casket  of  the 
Queen  of  Scots,  the  bodies  of  Arabella  Stuart,  of 
Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  Henry  of  Oatlands,  Mary 
Princess  of  Orange,  Prince  Rupert,  Elizabeth,  the 
beautiful  Queen  of  Bohemia,  William  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  the  ten  children  of  James  Second,  the 
eighteen  children  of  Queen  Anne,  only  one  of  whom 
required  a  full-sized  casket,  all  the  illegitimate  chil- 
dren of  Charles  Second,  Charles  himself,  William 
and  Mary,  and  Queen  Anne  with  whom  the  House 
of  Stuart  ceased  to  be.  The  silence  which  fills  the 
chapel  is  profound,  and  who  can  stand  within  it  and 


Mary  Queen  of  Scots  101 

not  ask  himself  this  question  :  What  was  it  —  the 
original  sin,  never  forgiven  or  forgotten  —  which 
brought  down  upon  this  royal  family  a  doom  so 
terrible,  so  complete? 


Ill 

A  VICTIM  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Marie  Antoinette 


Marie  Antoinette  in  voutli 


ni 

A   VICTIM    OF   THE    REVOLUTION 
Marie  Antoinette 

THE  French  Revolution  fell  with  deadly 
violence  upon  the  reign  of  Louis  Six- 
teenth. The  sins  of  the  father  were  visited 
upon  the  children,  not  only  to  the  third  and  fourth, 
but  to  the  tenth  and  twelfth  generations.  Nothing 
could  have  turned  the  tempest  then  from  its 
chosen  path.  The  great  death-struggle  between 
Royalty  and  Revolution  was  already  on  when  Louis 
Sixteenth  came  to  the  throne. 

In  his  History  of  the  French  Revolution,  Carlyle 
makes  use  of  a  striking  illustration.     He  says : 

The  oak  tree  grows  silently  in  the  forest  for  a  thousand 
years.  But  there  comes  one  day  the  woodsman  with  his  ax, 
and  the  oak  annoimees  its  own  destruction  when,  with  far- 
sounding  crash,  it  falls.  How  silent  also  was  the  planting  of 
that  acorn,  dropped  it  may  be  from  the  lap  of  some  wandering 
wind!  Not  even  the  most  observant  could  tell  you  when  the 
tree  first  put  forth  its  leaves.  These  things  befell  not 
suddenly.  They  were  slowly  done  —  not  in  an  hour,  nor  a 
day,  nor  a  century,  but  in  the  flight  of  ages. 
105 


106  Boyal  Women 

It  was  exactly  thus  that  conditions  in  France, 
born  as  they  were  of  centuries  of  abuse,  grew  into 
a  desperate  disease,  necessitating  a  desperate 
remedy.  The  great  French  Revolution  is  without 
a  parallel  in  history. 

Away  back  in  1274  there  was  a  king  in  France 
called  Louis  Ninth.  He  was  a  pious  and  gentle 
man,  with  integrity  of  character  and  sincerity  of 
purpose.  He  left  the  affairs  of  his  kingdom  in  the 
hands  of  his  mother,  Blanche  of  Castile,  and  be- 
came the  devoted  leader  of  the  Seventh  Crusade. 
He  gave  his  life  for  the  cause.  The  French  people 
loved  him  and  forever  afterward  honored  his 
memory.    They  called  him  Saint  Louis. 

It  is  a  far  flight  from  1274  to  1774,  but  the 
kings  of  France  during  those  five  hundred  years 
made  France  what  she  was.  For  a  few  years  after 
the  death  of  Saint  Louis,  each  king  followed  his 
predecessor,  reigned  a  few  years  and  died,  and  the 
affairs  of  the  kingdom  changed  but  little.  But  as 
early  as  the  days  of  Philip  Fifth,  that  turbulence 
and  disorder,  the  final  outcome  of  which  was  the 
French  Revolution,  began  to  seethe  in  France. 
Sometimes  it  slumbered  for  a  generation  and  then 
broke  forth  anew.  In  the  long  line  of  monarchs, 
only  a  few  are  worthy  of  mention.  True,  there 
was  Henry  of  Navarre,  who  stole  an  hour  every 
day  in  which  to  play  with  his  children  —  who  used 


Marie  Antoinette  107 

to  wander  through  the  streets  of  Paris  in  disguise 
that  he  might  see  the  children  of  the  city  —  who 
grieved  because  every  peasant  in  his  kingdom  could 
not  have  a  fowl  for  dinner  on  Sunday.  He  loved 
his  people  and  tried  to  better  their  condition,  but 
those  who  followed  after  him  promptly  undid  what 
he  had  accomplished. 

The  immediate  predecessors  of  Louis  Sixteenth 
did  nothing  great  for  France.  It  is  true  that  Louis 
Fourteenth,  when  asked  whom  he  would  have  for  his 
minister,  said,  "  I  will  have  no  minister.  I  will 
have  no  council.  I  am  the  State !  "  It  is  true  that 
during  his  reign  he  was  the  finest  figure  on  the 
stage  of  Europe.  It  is  true  that  the  splendor  of 
his  court  outshone  that  of  any  other  court  in 
Christendom,  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  people 
paid  for  the  maintenance  of  that  court  by  the  sweat 
of  their  brows.  It  is  likewise  true  that  its  splendor 
was  fictitious,  its  brilliancy  artificial ;  that  the  char- 
acter of  the  king  contained  few  elements  of  real 
strength  or  greatness ;  that  when  his  reign  was 
ended  (and  it  was  the  longest  reign  in  history  — 
seventy -two  j^ears)  his  system  of  government  was 
as  miserable  and  decrepit  as  himself.  It  is  the 
custom  to  speak  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Fourteenth 
as  an  epoch  of  great  industrial,  literary,  and 
artistic  progress.  But  the  author  of  the  History 
of  Civilization  has  punctured  this  bubble  and  has 


108  lioyal  Women 

proved  the  intellectual  greatness  of  the  age  to  have 
been  a  fiction. 

It  is  not  often  that  a  king  about  to  die  gives 
advice  to  a  great-grandson  about  to  succeed  him, 
but  this  was  the  case  with  Louis  Fourteenth.  His 
son  was  dead.  His  grandson  was  dead,  and  his  , 
great-grandson  stood  ready  to  take  his  place.  To 
him  the  old  king  said: 

"My  son,  you  are  about  to  become  king  of  a 
great  nation.  I  most  strongly  recommend  you 
this :  Keep  the  peace  with  your  neighbors.  I  have 
been  too  fond  of  war.  Do  not  follow  my  example 
in  that,  nor  in  m}^  too  lavish  expenditure.  Seek 
advice  in  all  things,  and  endeavor  to  accomplish 
that  which  I  have  not  been  able  to  do." 

Little  did  Louis  Fifteenth  heed  the  advice  of  his 
great-grandfather.  He  made  a  Marquise  of  the 
butcher's  daughter  and  gave  not  only  himself  but 
the  affairs  of  his  country  into  her  keeping.  As 
his  illustrious  great-grandfather  had  said,  "I  am 
the  State,"  Louis  Fifteenth  might  well  have  said, 
"  Madame  Pompadour  and  I  are  the  State !  "  At 
last  he  died,  of  loathsome  and  terrible  diseases, 
leaving  a  kingdom  exhausted  of  its  resources  by 
his  vices  and  extravagances,  a  state  badly  in  debt 
as  the  result  of  his  needless  and  inglorious  wars,  a 
people  burdened  with  taxation,  a  tottering  fabric 
of  government  rotten  to  the  core  —  and  this  was 


Marie  Antoinette  109 

Louis  Sixteenth's  inheritance !  Moreover,  a  change 
had  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  people 
refused  to  be  further  ignored.  The  fiery  spirit  of 
aroused  France  was  no  longer  to  be  lulled  to  sleep 
with  cradle-songs.  The  days  of  pleasure  were 
things  of  the  past,  and  the  poor  young  king,  whose 
ancestors  for  five  hundred  years  had  sown  the  wind, 
was  left  to  reap  the  whirlwind. 

In  the  midst  of  that  cyclonic  and  all-pervasive 
storm,  the  French  Revolution,  the  great,  illumined 
figure  of  a  woman  stood  out  in  bold  relief. 
It  was  that  of  the  queen  —  Marie  Antoinette. 
About  her  all  things  seemed  to  center.  Her  story, 
rightly  read,  can  excite  neither  malignity  nor 
envy,  for  a  feeling  adverse  to  her  cannot  exist 
which  the  recollection  of  her  misfortunes  does 
not  convert  into  pity.  Neither  is  it  possible  to 
separate  her  story  from  that  of  the  king.  They 
were  one  and  the  same.  The  sj^mpathy  which 
existed  between  them  gave  them  courage  to  struggle 
on  and  fight  together  to  the  end.  The  love  they 
bore  each  other  and  their  little  children  became,  in 
time  of  stress,  their  refuge  and  their  strength. 

We  know  that  policy  in  monarchs  is  paramount 
to  every  other  consideration.  Maria  Theresa  was 
Empress  of  Austria  and  had  four  daughters.  Like 
her  envied  contemporary,  Catherine  of  Russia,  she 
consulted  no  ties  of  nature  in  the  disposal  of  her 


110  Royal  Women 

children.  Slie  hoped  that  Louis  Fifteenth  would 
aid  her  in  recovering  some  of  the  territory  which 
the  king  of  Prussia  had  wrested  from  her  ancient 
domain.  She  knew  the  character  of  old  Louis  to 
the  letter,  and  drew  her  own  conclusions  as  to  the 
effect  which  youth  and  heauty  would  have  upon 
such  a  king  and  such  a  court.  Therefore  the 
youngest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  daughters  was 
set  apart  for  France.  As  for  the  future  bride- 
groom, then  sixteen  years  of  age,  who  was  later  to 
be  Louis  Sixteenth,  he  was  left  outside  the  calcula- 
tion. Whether  the  plan  appealed  to  him  mattered 
little  to  this  scheming  empress-mother.  So  during 
the  time  when  Madame  Pompadour  ruled  not  only 
the  king  but  all  France  as  well,  Maria  Theresa 
proposed  the  union  of  the  Dauphin  with  her  daugh- 
ter, Marie  Antoinette.  She  flattered  the  king's 
favorite  in  the  most  wil}'  fashion  until  the  plan 
received  her  hearty  support.  She  left  no  stone 
unturned  until  the  proxy  of  the  Dauphin  had  been 
sent  to  Vienna  to  wed  the  princess  in  his  name. 

Here  beginneth  the  story  of  the  traged}^!  All 
the  zeal  with  which  this  imion  was  supported  could 
not  subdue  the  prejudice  against  it.  France  has 
never  looked  Avith  complacency  upon  alliances  with 
the  house  of  Austria,  and  the  greatest  distaste  for 
this  one  prevailed,  not  only  among  the  members  of 
the  court  but  within  the  royal  family  itself.     Louia 


I>()uis  Sixtffiith,  King;  of  France 


Marie  Antoinette  111 

Fifteenth  had  two  unmarried  daughters.  They  had 
had  much  to  do  with  the  care  and  education  of  the 
Dauphin.  They  openly  expressed  their  aversion, 
their  hostihty.  It  was  useless.  The  feeling  against 
Austria  which  prevailed  in  France  was  too  strong 
to  be  overcome  by  any  state  policy,  and  where 
Maria  Theresa  meditated  a  triumph  for  herself  she 
built  for  her  daughter  a  scaffold.  Before  the  little 
bride  arrived  in  France,  Madame  Pompadour  died, 
and  th6  interests  of  Austria  sank  to  the  lowest 
depths.  The  old  king  was  again  without  a  favorite, 
but  the  Due  de  Richelieu  was  at  hand  and  supplied 
Louis  Fifteenth  with  the  last  of  his  mistresses  — 
the  notorious  Comtesse  du  Barri.  When  the  little 
Austrian  princess  arrived  she  met  scarcely  a  friend 
and  an  army  of  foes. 

Her  enemies  were  both  open  and  concealed. 
They  beset  her  on  all  sides.  The  two  maiden  aunts 
of  the  Dauphin  were  especially  implacable.  They 
had  tried  to  steer  the  young  prince  away  from  the 
channel  in  which  Louis  Fifteenth  had  travelled,  and, 
if  they  did  nothing  else,  they  fostered  in  him  a 
disgust  for  licentiousness  and  a  regard  for  morality 
which  were  the  strongest  elements  in  his  character. 
But  they  left  no  means  unessayed  to  steel  him 
against  his  prospective  bride.  They  impressed  upon 
him  the  misfortunes  which  must  spring  upon  his 
family  and  himself   from  Austrian   influence,   and 


112  Royal  Women 

such  was  their  ascendancy  over  him  that  for  a  long 
time  it  prevailed  against  all  the  allurement  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  woman  whose  charming  amia- 
bility, vivacity,  and  graceful  manners  became  the 
universal  admiration.  But  Marie  Antoinette  was 
a  simple,  unsophisticated,  whole-hearted  girl,  and, 
naturally,  was  unable  to  cope  with  all  of  these 
prejudices. 

On  the  day  after  her  arrival  the  state  dinner  took 
place  in  the  beautiful  palace  of  Versailles.  Of 
Louis  Fourteenth's  stupendous  extravagance,  this 
palace  is  the  most  colossal  monument.  Voltaire 
called  it  the  abyss  of  expense.  But  Louis  Four- 
teenth wished  to  be  thought  immortal.  So  he  built 
this  palace  and  moved  his  court  there,  because, 
forsooth,  from  the  windows  of  his  former  residence 
in  the  Tuilcries  he  could  see  the  towers  of  St.  Denis, 
where  all  the  dead  and  gone  kings  of  France  lay 
buried ! 

From  foundation  to  dome,  the  brilliant  lights 
glittered  and  sparkled.  The  palace  was  filled  with 
courtiers  in  gala  dress.  Outwardly  all  was  as  it 
should  be.  But  within  the  state  dining-room  the 
daughter  of  Maria  Theresa  was  filled  with  dismay 
and  anger  when  she  found  herself  seated  on  the 
king's  left  hand  and  Madame  du  Barri  on  his 
right.     Three  of  the  ladies-in-waiting  arose  from 


Marie  Antoinette  113 

the  table  and  left  the  palace,  never  to  return  until 
after  the  old  king's  death.  Marie  Antoinette  com- 
plained to  her  royal  mother  of  this  indignity ;  but 
the  latter,  too  wise  to  interfere  so  early  in  the  game, 
sent  back  the  laconic  answer :  "  Where  the  sovereign 
himself  presides,  no  guest  is  objectionable." 

This  was  the  inauspicious  beginning.  After  it 
the  difficulties  of  her  position  doubled  and  multi- 
plied. The  first  time  the  wrath  of  the  court  fell 
upon  her  was  on  account  of  the  court  costume  — 
the  enormous  hoop-skirts  and  crinolines.  Ever  since 
the  days  of  Anne  of  Austria  the  court  of  Versailles 
had  been  wedded  to  two  things  —  its  etiquette  and 
its  pageantries.  Marie  Antoinette  was  young  and 
beautiful  —  a  thing  which  the  antiquated  court 
dowagers  could  not  forgive.  She  determined  that 
she  would  not  wear  these  monstrosities,  and  clad 
her  girlish  figure  in  sweet  and  simple  gowns.  The 
habitues  of  the  court  cried  out  in  dismay  and  com- 
plained to  the  king.  Louis  remonstrated  with  her. 
He  told  her  how  the  factories,  trades-people,  cos- 
tumers,  et  cetera,  would  suffer  if  she  did  anything 
to  lessen  the  expensive  and  gorgeous  court  costume 
then  en  vogue.  At  last  she  agreed  to  wear  it  in 
public  if  in  private  she  might  dress  as  she  pleased. 
This  permission  the  king  granted  her;  but  while 
the  court  ladies  suddenly  imitated  everything  she 


114  Royal  Women 

did  and  wore,  they  continued  to  cry  out  against 
her  as  a  Martin  Luther  of  the  fashions  —  and  what 
greater  crime  could  there  be  in  France? 

The  first  lady-in-waiting  was  Madame  de 
Noailles.  She  was  a  thorn  in  Marie  Antoinette's 
flesh,  but  the  position  was  hereditary  in  her  family. 
Capability  and  fitness  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
case.  Her  element  was  etiquette,  but  it  was  the 
etiquette  of  ages  before  the  flood.  She  was  method- 
ical in  all  things.  She  had  a  rule  for  everything  — 
how  to  sit  down,  how  to  stand  up,  how  to  go  to 
bed,  how  to  get  up  again.  Marie  Antoinette's 
sense  of  the  ridiculous  was  too  strong  not  to  burst 
forth  at  sight  of  her.  She  gave  her  the  laughable 
title  of  Madame  Etiquette  —  a  title  which,  though 
conferred  in  merriment,  was  never  forgiven.  One 
day,  while  walking  through  the  park,  the  little 
princess  stumbled  and  fell.  She  refused  to  rise 
from  the  ground  till  someone  went  for  Madame 
Etiquette  to  show  her  just  how  she  should  do  it. 
These  and  other  like  escapades,  only  the  sponta- 
neous outburst  of  spirits  of  a  sixteen-year-old  girl, 
were  cherished,  and  in  after  years,  when  the  oppor- 
tunity came,  Madame  de  Noailles  declared  against 
the  queen  in  a  crisis  of  great  importance. 

Louis  Fifteenth,  shameless  old  scamp  that  he 
was,  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of  supplanting  his 


Marie  Antoinette  115 

grandson  in  the  affections  of  Marie  Antoinette  and 
making  her  his  own  queen.  With  this  end  in  view, 
he  encouraged  with  all  his  might  the  Dauphin's  cool- 
ness toward  her.  He  threw  every  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  their  becoming  even  well  acquainted  with  each 
other.  Both  were  young  —  mere  children.  They 
had  been  married  by  proxy  in  Vienna,  the  Dauphin 
being  represented  by  a  member  of  the  court.  The 
king  had  their  apartments  placed  at  opposite  ends 
of  the  palace.  He  backed  up  his  attentions  with 
diamonds  and  other  pretty  gifts,  which  the  little 
princess,  in  her  artlessness,  accepted  with  no 
thought  of  evil ;  and  it  was  at  this  time  that  Louis 
Fifteenth  gave  orders  for  the  famous  diamond 
necklace  which  is  a  part  of  Marie  Antoinette's 
history.  Madame  du  Barri  could  not  fail  to  see 
Louis'  predilection  for  his  new  grand-daughter-in- 
law,  and  her  rage  and  jealousy  knew  no  bounds. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  maiden  aunts,  she  used 
every  means  in  her  power  to  get  the  object  of  their 
hatred  sent  back  to  Vienna. 

By  and  by,  however,  the  little  Dauphiness  grew 
weary  of  her  position  at  court.  Utterly  ignorant 
of  old  Louis'  designs,  so  apparent  to  everyone  else, 
she  one  day  complained  bitterly  to  the  Duchess  of 
Grammont,  who  was  a  confidential  friend  of  the 
king,  of  the  fact  that  she  was  so  entirely  separated 


116  Royal  Women 

from  her  3'oung  husband  as  not  to  be  able  even  to 
speak  to  him  except  in  the  most  public  manner. 
The  Duchess  laughed  and  said : 

"Well,  if  I  were  a  young  and  beautiful  wife, 
and  neglected  as  you  are,  I  should  certainly  not 
trouble  myself  to  remove  the  obstacle  by  seeking 
my  husband.  There  arc  others  of  superior  rank 
read}^  to  take  his  place." 

Marie  Antoinette  could  not  understand  this  allu- 
sion of  the  Duchess,  but  it  is  evident  that  the  latter 
took  this  opportunity  to  sound  her  upon  what  she 
was  commissioned  to  carry  on  in  favor  of  the  king, 
and  that  she  was  led  to  abandon  the  project  only 
when  the  princess  expressed  herself  so  decidedly  in 
favor  of  her  3'oung  husband  as  to  leave  no  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  the  Duchess  as  to  the  groundlessness  of 
old  Louis'  hopes.  The  king,  when  he  found  that  he 
could  not  carry  out  his  plan,  took  steps  to  mask  his 
villainy.  The  first  of  these  was  to  change  the 
Dauphin's  apartments  for  some  nearer  those  of  his 
wife. 

In  time,  however,  a  circumstance  occurred  which 
made  a  great  change  in  the  relative  position  of  all 
at  court.  Worn  with  the  excesses  of  sixt^^-five 
years,  the  old  king  fell  ill  of  smallpox  and  was 
about  to  die.  Marie  Antoinette  was  frightened. 
She  realized  what  that  would  moan  —  also  her  own 
youth  and  inexperience.     She  remembered  that  she 


Marie  Afitoinette  117 

and  her  husband  were  no  more  than  strangers.  She 
thought  of  his  indifference  toward  her  and  the 
prejudices  which  had  inspired  it.  Finally,  one 
night,  that  fateful  cry,  "  The  King  is  Dead  — 
Long  Live  the  King !  "  echoed  and  reechoed  through 
the  long  corridors  of  the  palace.  She  burst  into 
tears  and  exclaimed: 

"Mon  Dieu!  We  are  too  young  to  reign!" 
For  once  the  etiquette  of  the  court,  which  she 
had  looked  upon  as  such  an  abomination,  brought 
her  happiness,  for  it  required  that  between  the 
death  and  the  burial  of  the  old  king  the  new  king 
should  not  leave  his  apartments.  So,  for  the  first 
time,  the  young  people  met  and  visited  with  each 
other  in  unaffected  freedom,  and  away  from  the 
intrigues  and  the  spies  of  the  court,  Louis  Six- 
teenth awoke  to  the  loveliness  and  charm  of  his 
young  wife.  In  fact,  he  fell  madly  in  love  with 
her.  It  had  been  more  than  four  years  since  her 
ambitious  mother  had  sent  her  forth  from  Vienna 
to  wed  an  unknown  prince  filled  with  prejudice 
not  only  against  her  country  but  herself.  From 
this  day  forth,  however,  they  lived  together  in  the 
closest  sympathy  and  affection. 

The  new  king  was  only  twenty.  lie  was  not 
altogether  prepossessing  in  appearance.  He  had 
a  somewhat  uninteresting  face.  He  was  large  of 
build,  and  had  a  deep  bass  voice  which  fairly  roared 


118  Boyal  Women 

when  he  talked.  He  was  naturally  timid,  bashful. 
In  his  younger  days,  especially,  he  had  not  a 
pleasing  presence,  and  those  who  did  not  know  him 
well  called  him  stupid.  He  was  of  a  mechanical 
turn  of  mind.  He  liked  to  work  at  a  forge,  and 
could  make  locks  and  keys  quite  skillfully.  His 
good  qualities  and  virtues  were  generally  known 
and  acknowledged,  and  all  France  hastened  to  do 
him  honor.  After  the  long  and  corrupt  reign  of 
Louis  Fifteenth,  the  most  cheering  changes  were 
expected,  on  account  of  the  high  moral  standard 
which  it  was  known  Louis  Sixteenth  had  set  up  for 
himself.  Nor  was  the  little  queen  loss  beloved  at 
this  time,  except  by  the  few  depraved  ones  who 
were  jealous  of  the  wonderful  powers  of  pleasing 
which  so  eminentlj'  distinguished  Marie  Antoinette 
from  the  rest  of  her  court. 

The  coronation  took  place  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Rheims  on  the  tenth  of  ^lay,  1774.  It  is  provi- 
dential that  the  future  is  hidden  from  us,  else  the 
songs  of  rejoicing  on  this  day  might  well  have 
ended  in  a  dirge!  Well  would  it  have  been  for 
Alarie  Antoinette  had  the  plotters  had  their  way 
and  sent  her  back  to  Vienna!  Had  she  returned 
there,  her  life  might  have  been  spent  in  that 
domestic  peace  which  was  her  sole  ambition.  She 
never  cared  to  be  a  queen.  This  was  thrust  upon 
her.    Had  she  returned  she  might  have  gone  down 


Marie  Antoinette  119 

to  the  peaceful  tomb  of  her  august  ancestors, 
leaving  the  page  of  history  unstained  by  its 
greatest  crime. 

But  this  period  of  the  queen's  happiness  was 
brief  and  fleeting.  The  intriguers  were  at  work. 
Every  little  act,  every  innocent  move,  they  com- 
mented upon  with  damaging  effect,  and  managed 
to  diffuse  a  strong  impression  of  her  want  of 
feeling.  Her  education  had  been  most  imperfect. 
Her  mother  had  purposely  had  it  so.  She  felt  this 
keenly  when  she  went  to  France,  and  being  con- 
scious of  it,  was  inclined  to  avoid  those  women  of 
the  court  who  were  well  educated  and  who  would 
have  been  of  great  service  to  her.  In  after  years 
she  strove  to  remedy  this  lack  of  early  training, 
and  when  she  was  herself  a  mother  determined  that 
her  children  should  not  suffer  from  errors  of  which 
she  felt  herself  to  be  the  victim.  The  avoidance 
of  the  well-informed  women  of  the  court  was  fatal 
to  her,  for  it  planted  the  seeds  for  the  future 
accusations  as  to  her  frivolity  and  heartlessness. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  the  paltry  complaints 
against  her  was  because  she  did  not  counterfeit 
deep  grief  at  the  death  of  the  old  king.  When 
the  court  made  its  visit  of  condolence  to  the  new 
king,  not  finding  the  nineteen-year-old  queen 
bathed  in  hypocritical  tears,  they  declared  her  the 
rudest   and   most   indecorous   of  princesses.     The 


120  Tioyal  Women 

next  ridiculous  complaint  was  because  the  natural 
modesty  and  womanliness  of  the  queen  rendered 
unbearable  to  her  the  public  ceremonj'^  of  dressing 
herself  which  had  been  for  so  long  customary  at 
the  French  court.  The  toilette  of  the  French 
woman  of  that  day  was  an  affair  quite  beyond  our 
American  comprehension.  From  time  immemorial, 
the  toilet  of  the  ladies  of  the  court,  and  of  the 
queen  in  particular,  had  been  a  public  ceremony ! 
Anyone  who  happened  to  be  present,  any  dignitary 
who  had  asked  for  an  audience,  was  invited,  as  a  great 
honor,  to  be  present  at  the  queen's  toilet.  Marie 
Antoinette  endured  this  edif3ung  performance  for 
about  ten  days,  and  then  declared  that  she  would 
have  no  more  of  it.  The  first  reform  she  intro- 
duced was  the  internal  discipline  of  her  own  apart- 
ments. She  set  aside  a  room  whore,  with  the 
assistance  of  her  maid  onl}^  she  could  make  her 
toilet  in  comfort,  by  herself.  She  was  delighted  to 
find  that  this  move  on  her  part  was  highly  approved 
by  the  king.  That  approval  was  all  she  sought. 
Another  complaint  was  that  the  queen  was  not  only 
plain  in  her  attire,  but  economical.  She  made  her 
morning  visits  in  simple  gowns  and  small  hats. 
This  circumstance  gave  great  umbrage  to  the  other 
princesses  who  never  showed  themselves,  from  the 
time  they  arose  till  they  retired,  except  in  full  dress. 
This  economy  on  the  part  of  the  queen  exasperated 


Marie  Antoinette  121 

her  slanderers.  The  most  unaccountable  of  all  the 
popular  errors  respecting  Marie  Antoinette  is  the 
charge  of  personal  extravagance  and  prodigality  so 
unjustly  laid  against  her  and  spread  with  such 
industry,  not  only  in  France  but  throughout  all 
Europe.  It  was  only  one  link  in  the  great  chain 
which  her  enemies  were  weaving,  which  was  to  make 
her  court  responsible  for  the  bad  state  of  the  public 
finances. 

Not  long  after  she  became  queen,  Louis  Six- 
teenth made  his  wife  a  present  of  Petit  Trianon,  a 
pretty  chateau  not  for  from  Versailles.  This  little 
estate  was  never  a  palace  or  a  castle.  It  was  a 
charming  country  house,  with  pretty  gardens,  shady 
walks,  tall  trees,  and  a  little  artificial  lake.  Here, 
when  she  could  no  longer  endure  the  weariness  of 
her  court,  she  gathered  her  family  and  her  ladies 
about  her  and  played  that  she  was  a  simple  peasant 
woman  who  had  no  royal  cares.  Dressed  In  muslin 
dresses,  she  strolled  along  the  paths,  feeding  the 
chickens,  and  often  joining  in  a  game  of  blind 
man's  buff.  In  one  of  the  little  buildings  she  had 
a  dairy,  and  she  and  her  ladies  laughed  with  glee 
if  the  butter  turned  out  a  success.  In  another 
structure  was  the  mill.  King  Louis  played  the 
miller  and  carried  the  sacks  on  his  broad  shoulder, 
like  a  tiller  of  the  soil.  Here  the  only  happy  days 
she  knew  in  her  adopted  country  were  spent,  and 


122  noyal  Women 

here  she  was  when  the  storm  broke  with  sucli  fearful 
violence  over  France. 

Historians  tell  us  of  the  fabulous  sums  expended 
upon  this  little  estate.  This,  too,  was  a  link  in  the 
chain  forged  by  her  enemies.  The  furniture  in 
Petit  Trianon  was  all  old,  taken  from  unused 
apartments  of  former  queens  in  the  palace  of  Ver- 
sailles. The  boudoir  held  the  furnishings  of  Anne 
of  Austria's  chamber,  and  she,  like  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, purchased  such  things  out  of  her  private 
purse.  The  latter's  allowance  as  queen  of  France 
was  three  hundred  thousand  francs  —  sixty  thou- 
sand dollars.  The  expense  account  of  one  of  her 
chamberlains  contains  the  following  statement: 

"The  queen  is  liberal,  generous,  and  very  chari- 
table. She  pays  all  her  bills  promptly  and  regu- 
larly, the  expenses  of  the  household  at  Petit 
Trianon,  her  dresses,  jewels,  milliner}^  everything, 
in  fact,  except  her  court  establishment,  which  is 
paid  out  of  the  civil  list.  She  is  the  first  queen  in 
Europe,  is  obliged  to  keep  up  the  most  luxurious 
and  refined  couit  in  Europe;  3'et  not  a  franc 
of  her  personal  expense  comes  from  the  public 
treasur}'.  Everj'thing  is  paid  from  her  private 
allowance." 

Throe  hundred  thousand  francs  is  an  infinitely' 
less  sum  than  Louis  Fourteenth  lavished  yearly 
upon  ]\Iadame  de  Montespan,  and  loss  than  half 


Marie  Antoinette  123 

what  Louis  Fifteenth  expended  on  either  Pompa- 
dour or  du  Barri.  Out  of  respect  for  the  memory 
of  his  grandfather,  and  in  order  not  to  dislionor 
the  dignity  of  the  throne  of  France,  Louis  Six- 
teenth destroyed  his  private  papers.  But  it  may 
be  seen  clearly  from  the  register,  still  in  existence, 
that  these  two  women  amassed  more  property  in 
diamonds  and  other  valuables  than  did  all  the 
queens  of  France  from  the  days  of  Catherine  di 
Medicis  to  the  days  of  Marie  Antoinette.  Alas 
that  the  young  king  could  not  foresee  what  a  tower 
of  strength  these  papers  would  have  been  to  him 
when  confronted  with  the  accusers  of  his  unfortu- 
nate wife  in  establishing  an  honorable  contrast 
between  his  own  and  the  former  reigns! 

The  king's  career  exhibits  no  superfluous  per- 
sonal expenditure.  Its  economy  was  most  rigid. 
No  monarch  was  ever  more  scrupulous  with  the 
public  money.  The  king  himself  had  neither  public 
nor  private  predilections,  no  dilapidated  minister 
for  a  favorite,  no  courtesan  mistress,  no  fondness 
for  gambling;   in  fact,  no  vices  of  character. 

Look  forward  for  a  moment  to  the  record  of 
those  who  followed  after  him.  When  the  day  of 
blood  and  vengeance  —  such  vengeance  as  the 
human  race,  never  before  nor  since,  has  taken  upon 
itself,  that  so-called  and  well-named  Reign  of 
Terror  —  was  ushered  in,  a  Revolutionary  Tribunal 


124  Boyal  Women 

was  created,  dominated  by  three  terrible  men  — 
Marat,  Danton,  and  Robespierre.  These  men  began 
a  sort  of  semi-legal  massacre  of  all  who  dared 
oppose  their  wishes.  The  story  of  the  three,  in 
detail,  is  long.  But  a  young  girl  named  Charlotte 
Corday  conceived  it  her  duty  to  rid  France  of  a 
monster,  and  plunged  a  knife  into  Marat's  heart, 
meeting  death  at  the  guillotine  therefor.  Each  of 
these  men  had  a  following  of  his  own,  and  after 
the  death  of  Marat  a  deadly  rivalry  began  between 
the  Dantonists  (so  named  after  their  leader)  and 
the  followers  of  Robespierre.  This  last  member  of 
the  trio,  Maximilian  de  Robespierre,  was  a  man  of 
most  inexplicable  character.  Carlyle  calls  him  The 
Sea-green  Monster. 

Those  who  have  seen  Sir  Henry  Irving's  artistic 
impersonation  of  this  man  will  have  him  in  mind 
exactly  as  he  was.  His  figure  was  so  slight  as  to 
be  almost  spectral  in  his  younger  days.  He  was 
angular  and  awkward  in  bearing.  His  mouth  was 
large,  his  lips  thin,  his  voice  high-pitched  and 
monotonous.  At  the  age  of  twenty-seven  he 
became  a  judge,  and  in  his  official  capacity  was 
obliged  to  condemn  a  convicted  criminal  to  death. 
So  great  was  his  horror  of  the  circumstance  that 
he  immediately  resigned  and  became  an  advocate 
of  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment.  Nor  can 
one    suspect    that    this    sensitiveness    was    in    any 


Marie  Antoinette  125 

measure  affectation.  Yet  during  those  days  when 
lawlessness,  anarchy,  and  crime  possessed  Paris,  a 
fearful  reaction  took  place  in  this  man's  nature. 
His  career  henceforth  was  appalling.  He  became 
the  most  terrible  butcher  of  the  Revolution.  He 
succeeded  in  getting  the  convention  to  pass  a  Law 
of  the  Suspected,  and  woe  unto  him  against  whom 
the  finger  of  suspicion  was  pointed!  The  prisons 
were  filled  with  men,  women,  and  children,  many  of 
whom  knew  not  why  they  were  there.  Every  day 
they  called  the  roll  and  led  them  forth  to  die.  No 
age  nor  sex  nor  condition  was  spared,  and  the 
most  beautiful  city  of  the  modern  world  became  a 
horror  too  great  to  contemplate.  Robespierre  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  former  friend  and  co- 
laborer,  Danton,  in  the  cart  on  the  way  to  execu- 
tion. A  little  later  the  Girondists  came  to  their 
last  night  in  prison,  and  on  the  morrow  followed 
the  same  path.  Robespierre,  the  once-powerful, 
began  to  lose  ground,  and  foreseeing  that  his  day 
was  over,  he  became  once  more  the  coward  and 
the  craven.  He  shot  but  failed  to  kill  himself  in  the 
hall  of  the  Convention,  and  his  judges,  determined 
that  he  should  have  a  taste  of  his  own  medicine, 
carried  him  limp  and  almost  lifeless  to  the  guillo- 
tine, where  he  was  executed.  But  while  these  m.cn 
lived  tlie  Revolutionary  Tribunal  was  all-powerful. 
The  Assembly  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Tribunal. 


126  Royal  Women 

Paris  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Assembly.  France 
was  in  the  hands  of  Paris.  Power  was  in  the 
hands  of  Robespierre,  Marat  and  Danton,  and  to 
resist  them  was  to  die.  These  men,  before  they  had 
acquired  sufficient  influence  to  make  themselves 
heard  in  the  convention,  had,  by  means  of  pamph- 
lets, papers,  and  publications,  written  and  printed 
in  dark  cellars  or  garrets,  kept  alive  in  the  public 
mind  the  suspicion  that  the  wife  of  the  king  was 
squandering  the  public  money. 

It  is  only  by  contrast  that  we  see  things  in  their 
true  light.  Here  is  the  report  of  the  ministerial 
expense  during  the  short  time  that  these  sworn 
enemies  of  royalty  held  sway  in  France.  This  is  the 
salary  list : 

The  INIinister  of  Justice 30  million  francs 

The  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs.......      50  million  francs 

The  Minister  of  Finance 200  million  francs 

The  ]\Iinister  of  the  Navy 600  million  francs 

The  Minister  of  the  Interior 900  million  francs 

The  Minister  of  War 1,200  million  francs 

Nearly  three  thousand  millions  of  francs  for  the 
support  of  the  brutes  who  murdered  their  sovereign, 
one  reason  being  that  it  pleased  them  to  believe  her 
extravagant ! 

No  account  of  IMarie  Antoinette's  life  would  be 
complete  without  the  story  of  her  friendship  with 
the  Princess  Lamballe.     She  was  still  the  wife  of 


Marie  Antoinette  127 

the  Dauphin  when  this  friendship  was  formed 
which  had  such  a  tragic  termination.  The  princess 
was  the  sister-in-law  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  who, 
though  married  to  her  husband's  sister,  sought  by 
every  means  he  could  think  of  to  get  the  princess 
into  his  power.  When  he  found  all  his  attempts 
unavailing,  he  wreaked  his  vengeance  in  a  peculiar 
manner.  He  exerted  his  influence  over  her  young 
husband  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  completely 
under  his  sway.  He  led  him  into  all  sorts  of 
debauchery,  until  at  last  he  died  in  his  early 
twenties,  a  mental,  moral,  and  physical  wreck, 
leaving  the  princess  a  widow  at  nineteen.  Marie 
Antoinette,  hearing  of  the  duke's  cruelty,  sought 
her  out,  and  when  she  became  queen  appointed  her 
superintendent  of  the  royal  household. 

The  queen's  friendship  for  the  princess  and  the 
fact  that  she  was  given  so  high  a  position  at  court 
could  not  fail  to  add  to  the  former's  enemies.  The 
Countess  de  Noailles  (Madame  Etiquette)  instantly 
resigned,  because  under  the  new  arrangement  her 
orders  from  the  queen  must  come  through  the 
princess.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  was  maddened  by 
her  appointment,  seeing  in  the  queen's  favor  a 
check  to  his  future  persecutions.  In  fact,  it  is  said 
upon  good  authority  that  the  interest  which  Her 
Majesty  took  in  the  Princess  Lamballe  planted  the 
first  seeds  of  that  unrelenting  and  misguided  hos- 


128  Boyal  Women 

tility  which,  in  the  deadhest  times  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, animated  the  Orleanists  against  the  throne. 

When  the  princess  had  been  in  Her  Majesty's 
service  about  a  year,  another  event  matured  which 
gave  one  more  opportunity  for  her  enemies  to 
attack  her.  This  was  the  introduction  at  court  of 
the  Countess  Polignac.  Remembering  the  disfavor 
which  her  own  appointment  had  occasioned,  the 
princess  distinctly  foresaw  the  consequences  when 
the  queen  formed  a  sudden  attachment  for  the 
countess  and  showed  her  great  partiahty.  The 
latter  had  all  the  qualifications  of  a  royal  favorite. 
She  was  unassuming,  refined,  good-natured,  and 
free  from  haughtiness.  The  princess  herself  was  far 
too  beautiful  and  too  noble  of  character  to  cherish 
envy  or  jealousy.  Besides,  she  was  related,  not  very 
distantly,  to  the  king.  She  loved  the  queen,  and 
although  she  saw  that  the  attachment  between  Her 
Majesty  and  the  Countess  Polignac  was  pure  and 
disinterested,  she  knew  that  a  friendship  between  a 
queen  and  a  subject  would  be  considered  almost 
from  a  criminal  point  of  view.  Moreover,  the 
Polignacs  were  not  in  circumstances  to  afford  the 
luxuries  of  court  life,  so  in  order  to  repair  the 
deficiencies  of  their  fortunes  the}'^  represented  to 
Her  Majesty  that  unless  resources  were  supplied 
her  friend  must  leave  the  court.  The  queen,  to 
secure  the  society  of  her  favorite,  supplied  the  funds 


3Iarie  Antoinette  129 

(out  of  her  own  allowance,  it  is  true),  but  by  this 
act  she  lost  forever  the  affections  of  the  old  nobility. 
In  gaining  one  friend  she  lost  a  host. 

In  vain  did  the  princess  endeavor  to  make  her 
sovereign  see  and  feel  the  danger.  Had  she  read 
the  Book  of  Fate  she  could  not  have  foreseen  more 
distinctly  the  results  which  actually  took  place  from 
this  unfortunate  connection.  Like  many  another 
woman,  the  queen  only  clung  the  more  closely  to 
attachments  from  which  people  desired  to  estrange 
her.  The  Countess  Polignac  was  the  governess  of 
the  royal  children,  and  the  interest  which  inspires  a 
mother  toward  those  who  have  charge  of  her  chil- 
dren is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  The 
countess,  although  her  salary  Avas  no  more  than  that 
allotted  to  all  former  governesses,  was  tempted  to 
make  a  display,  which  was  injurious  both  to  herself 
and  the  queen.  Before  long  the  blackest  calumny 
against  her  began  to  appear  in  prints,  caricatures, 
songs,  and  pamphlets  of  every  description. 

Then  followed  another  episode,  trifling  in  itself, 
but  which  proved  disastrous  in  reality.  Beau- 
marchais'  opera,  The  Marriage  of  Figaro,  was 
produced  upon  the  stage  of  Paris.  Information 
was  brought  the  king  that  it  was  full  of  slanderous 
and  indecorous  allusions  to  the  royal  family,  and 
he  forbade  its  production  unless  these  were  elimi- 
nated.   This  he  was  assured  had  been  done,  but  on 


130  Hoi/al  Women 

the  opening  night,  which  was  attended  by  both 
king  and  queen,  it  was  eA'ident  that  instead  of  being 
omitted  they  had  been  added  to  and  improved  upon. 
King  Louis  was  furious,  but  it  was  too  late  to 
remedy  it  then.  The  next  day  the  papers  were 
filled  with  the  story,  and  this  very  event  prepared 
all  minds  for  the  blow  which  the  queen  was  about 
to  receive  from  the  infamous  plot  which  concerned 
the  diamond  necklace.* 

A  number  of  people  were  concerned  with  the 
story  of  the  diamond  necklace.  First  of  all  came 
the  Cardinal  de  Rohan.  Such  a  character  as  this 
man  was  can  exist  only  in  a  society  which  is  on  the 


*  When  we  cease  to  study  history  superficially  and  bopin  to 
dig  down  into  the  depths,  we  are  surprised  at  the  supply  of 
absurdities  which  every  historical  period  adds  to  those  wliich 
have  gone  before.  It  is  told  that  when  the  people  of  France 
were  starving  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  made  aware  of  it  by 
the  collection  of  a  motley  crowd  in  the  courtyard  clamoring  that 
they  had  no  bread,  she  said  : 

"No  bread?     Why  don't  they  eat  cake,  then?" 

Like  the  story  of  the  diamond  necklace,  this  is  entirely 
untrue.  In  Austria,  where  she  was  born,  there  is  a  little  cake 
made  by  the  peasants  which  is  so  cheap  as  to  cost  almost 
nothing.  Even  the  poorest  of  the  peasants,  as  a  general  thing, 
could  manage  to  have  the  little  cakes  even  when  bread  was  out 
of  the  question.  What  the  queen  really  said  when  she  was  told 
the  reason  for  the  clamor  below,  was  said  in  kindness  and  pity : 
"No  bread?  Can  they  not  have  the  cakes,  then?"  A  distinction, 
truly  —  with  a  difference! 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  episode  of  the  diamond  necklace. 
When  the  writer  was  studying  the  history  of  France  in  school 
she  learned  from  the  text-book  that  when  the  people  of  Paris 
were  starving,  the  queen  of  France  bought  a  diamond  necklace 
composed  of  the  finest  stones  which  the  world  could  produce,  at 
a  cost  of  a  million  six  hundred  thousand  francs.  Imagine  her 
astonishment  some  years  later  to  find  the  story  absolutely  false. 
The  queen  was  the  victim  of  a  strange  and,  it  would  seem, 
Improbable  plot. 


Marie  Antoinette  131 

point  of  perishing.  He  was  a  thorough  man  of  the 
world.  He  preferred  drawing-rooms  and  boudoirs 
to  churches  and  sacristies.  He  was  the  incarnation 
of  all  the  elegances  and  all  the  vices  of  a  crumbling 
society.  His  manner  of  life  was  regal.  His 
gallantry  was  notorious.  He  was  always  at  the 
theatre.  His  prodigality  was  excessive,  and  the 
conduct  of  his  suite  most  scandalous.  He  was  a 
huge  volume  of  evil  language  which  ill-suited  his 
position  as  minister  and  priest.  Marie  Antoinette 
despised  him,  because,  during  her  early  days  in 
France,  he  had  joined  in  the  plot  of  her  enemies  to 
have  her  sent  back  to  Vienna.  He  even  went  fur- 
ther than  that.  He  formed  an  intrigue  by  which, 
when  she  had  been  returned  to  her  mother  in  dis- 
grace, her  next  oldest  sister  should  be  brought  to 
France  and  married  to  sixty-year-old  Louis  Fif- 
teenth. Naturally,  when  all  this  reached  the  ears 
of  the  queen,  the  status  of  the  Cardinal,  so  far  as 
she  was  concerned,  was  determined  for  all  time. 
He  imagined  that  she  only  stood  between  him  and 
the  height  of  his  ambition,  which  was  to  be 
appointed  Prime  Minister.  In  his  vanity  he  won- 
dered how  he,  so  glorious  and  fascinating,  the  Car- 
dinal Prince  of  Rohan,  could  fail  to  make  the  con- 
quest of  a  woman !  But  the  queen  continued  to 
maintain  her  icy  attitude.  She  never  addressed  one 
word  to  the  Grand  Almoner  of  France.     This  he 


182  Boyal  Women 

lamented  exceedingly,  and  while  seeking  with 
feverish  anxiety  some  means  to  obtain  the  good 
graces  of  his  sovereign,  he  met  two  people  who 
could,  he  thought,  be  of  great  service  to  him.  These 
two  were  first,  Cagliostro,  a  fortune-teller,  a  char- 
latan and  impostor  who  was  just  then  all  the  rage 
in  Paris,  and  second,  the  Countess  de  la  INIotte, 
who  was,  even  more  than  Cagliostro,  the  Cardinal's 
evil  genius. 

Madame  de  la  Motte  was  one  of  those  unhappy 
natures  which  find  satisfaction  only  in  sinful  occu- 
pation. Strange  are  the  vicissitudes  of  destiny! 
The  blood  of  Henry  Second  flowed  in  her  veins,  and 
the  Valois,  that  race  once  proud  and  powerful,  was 
represented  now  only  by  this  little  adventuress  who, 
in  spite  of  her  illustrious  origin,  was  very  poor. 
True,  the  king  allowed  her  an  annual  pension  of 
ninety-six  hundred  francs,  but  a  young,  ambitious 
woman,  fond  of  luxury  and  dress,  could  not  live 
upon  such  a  sum.  She  wished  to  make  a  fortune. 
Any  way  was  good  enough.  She  was  married  to 
a  man  as  poor  as  herself  and  they  lived  in  fur- 
nished lodgings  in  Paris.  Often  they  were  com- 
pelled to  deposit  their  belongings  with  the  wig- 
maker  for  protection.  In  1784  she  pledged  her 
dresses  at  the  pawn-brokers.  But  suddenly  a  great 
change  came.  All  at  once  this  woman  had  plenty 
of  money.     How  did  it  happen? 


Marie  Antoinette  133 

Madame  de  la  Motte  had  had  an  audience  with 
the  Cardinal  Rohan  and  had  besought  him  to  trans- 
rait  for  her  a  petition  to  the  king.  The  Cardinal 
thought  his  petitioner  very  pretty  and  at  once 
became  interested  in  her  welfare.  He  was  surprised 
when  he  learned  in  what  want  the  court  had  left 
the  poor  little  descendant  of  Henry  Second  — 
whose  strongest  arguments  were  a  trim  figure  and 
a  pair  of  fine  blue  eyes.  When  the  bold  adventuress 
saw  the  Cardinal's  fascination  she  saw  also  that  she 
had  found  a  victim.  Her  plans  were  soon  laid. 
She  learned  with  exultation  that  he  would  be  willing 
to  pay  almost  any  sum  to  the  one  who  would  bring 
about  a  reconciliation  with  the  queen.  She  at 
once  devised  the  means  of  ruining  him. 

Suddenly  she  pretended  that  her  lot  had 
changed  —  that  fortune  was  smiling  upon  her.  She 
gave  him  to  understand  that  she  had  had  an  audi- 
ence with  the  queen,  that  Her  Majesty  had  heaped 
benefits  upon  her,  had,  in  fact,  made  her  a  confi- 
dante, and  had  written  her  letters  full  of  the  most 
amiable  feeling.  She  showed  these  letters,  written 
by  a  clever  scoundrel  whom  she  had  engaged  for  a 
secretary.  She  convinced  the  Cardinal  that  she 
often  spoke  of  him  and  that  the  queen  had  com- 
missioned her  to  ask  him  to  send  her  his  apology 
in  writing.  This  document  the  Cardinal  placed  in 
Madame's  hands  and  was  told  by  her  later  that  the 


134  Royal  Women 

queen  had  accepted  it,  had  begged  him  to  have  dis- 
cretion and  patience  —  that  before  long  she  would 
announce  the  high  position  to  which  she  intended 
to  call  him. 

In  order  to  carry  out  the  plan  to  the  letter 
Madame  must  have  paper  bearing  the  royal  crest. 
This  she  managed  to  obtain  and  then,  with  the 
assistance  of  her  secretary,  she  forged  a  series  of 
letters  from  the  queen  to  the  Cardinal,  to  which  he 
replied,  placing  his  answers  in  Madame's  hands. 
Meanwhile  he  was  acting  as  banker.  He  had  given 
her  nearl3^  a  hundred  thousand  francs  for  the  ines- 
timable favor  which  apparently  she  had  procured 
for  him.  The  fraud  seemed  everywhere  triumphant, 
yet  Madame  grew  restless  and  uneasy.  Blind  as 
he  was,  might  not  the  Cardinal  discover  that  all 
was  not  as  it  should  be?  Was  he  not  likely  to 
notice  the  contrast  between  the  friendly  tone  of  the 
letters  and  the  attitude  of  contempt  which  the 
queen  maintained  in  public  toward  the  man  who 
imagined  himself  in  her  favor?  It  was  necessary 
to  guard  against  such  a  contingency,  but  how  ? 

Then  followed  the  most  diabolical  part  of  the 
whole  plot.  One  day  when  IMadame's  secretary  was 
wandering  through  the  park  he  saw  a  woman 
whose  resemblance  to  the  queen  was  most  striking. 
He  followed  her  to  her  lodgings  and  found  that 
she  was  a  young,  unmarried  woman  who  lived  in 


Marie  Antoinette  135 

the  neighborhood.  He  called  upon  her  and  told 
her  that  a  lady  by  whom  he  was  employed  (in  fact 
a  lady  of  the  court)  would  come  to  see  her  the 
next  day  on  a  matter  of  great  importance.  The 
next  day  Madame  went,  and  had,  of  course,  no  diffi- 
culty in  cajoling  the  poor  girl.  She  showed  her 
the  forged  letters  from  the  queen  to  prove  that  she 
was  really  in  Her  Majesty's  confidence.  She  told 
her  that  the  queen  had  asked  her  to  find  someone 
to  do  something  for  her  which  she  would  explain 
later.  Now,  Marie  Antoinette's  love  of  fun  and 
practical  jokes  was  a  well-known  fact,  and  the  girl, 
who  was  convinced  that  this  little  scene  was  desired 
by  the  queen  for  her  own  amusement,  had  no  other 
thought  than  to  play  her  part  to  the  best  of  her 
ability.    Her  instructions  were  as  follows : 

She  was  to  put  on  a  white  dress  trimmed  with 
red  (which  would  be  furnished  her)  and  accompany 
Madame  to  the  park  at  twilight.  There  a  great 
nobleman  would  come  up  to  her.  She  should  hand 
him  a  letter  (also  furnished  her)  and  a  rose,  saying 
only,   "  You  know  what  this  means ! " 

The  Cardinal,  believing  that  the  queen  was  about 
to  grant  the  promised  interview,  was  there.  He 
bowed  low  over  the  hand  of  his  supposed  sovereign 
and  was  about  to  speak  when  Madame  appeared  as 
if  in  great  alarm  and  said,  "  Come  quick !  Quick ! ! 
The  king!"     They  fled  in  one  direction  and  the 


136  Boyal  Women 

Cardinal  in  another,  the  latter  believing  thcat  she 
Avho  had  for  so  long  held  him  at  bay  had  melted 
at  lest  and  in  token  of  her  forgiveness  had  given 
him  a  rose.  The  plot  had  succeeded  beyond  the 
adventuress'  fairest  hopes. 

Then  followed  the  episode  of  the  diamond  neck- 
lace. For  a  long  time  the  true  story  of  this  affair 
was  shrouded  in  obscurity  and  was  the  subject  of 
many  commentaries  and  discussions.  Now,  however, 
one  can  easily  get  at  all  the  evidence  in  the  case  — 
all  the  documents  concerning  the  people  accused: 
the  judges,  the  public,  the  investigation,  the  trial, 
and  the  verdict. 

The  origin  of  the  diamond  necklace  has  already 
been  told.  Old  Louis  Fifteenth,  when  he  thought 
he  would  supplant  his  grandson  in  the  affections 
of  Marie  Antoinette,  gave  orders  for  the  necklace 
to  be  made  of  the  finest  stones  that  were  to  be  had. 
So  the  crown  jewelers  began  to  collect  the  dia- 
monds. Before  a  third  of  them  were  collected, 
however,  the  plan  of  the  king  had  failed  to  work. 
Then  he  thought  he  would  give  them  to  du  Barri, 
but  he  died,  and  the  jewelers  were  left  with  the 
diamonds  on  their  hands.  After  the  accession  of 
Louis  Sixteenth  they  brought  the  necklace  to  him 
and  urged  him  to  purchase  it  for  the  queen.  He 
sent  for  her,  and  although  she  thought  it  very 
handsome,  she  was  most  averse  to  having  such  a  sum 


Marie  Antoinette  137 

spent  upon  her  and  said  that  the  money  could  be 
better  expended  in  some  manner  useful  to  the  gov- 
ernment or  to  enlarge  the  park  at  Versailles.  The 
jeweler  obtained  an  audience  with  the  queen  and 
assured  her  that  he  was  ruined  if  he  could  not  dis- 
pose of  the  diamonds,  but  she  told  him  firmly  that 
the  king  had  offered  to  buy  them  for  her  and  she 
had  refused.  She  told  him  to  take  the  necklace 
apart  and  sell  the  single  stones,  adding,  "You  can 
easily  dispose  of  it  in  this  manner,  so  don't  go 
drown  yourself."  Imagine  her  astonishment,  then, 
a  few  weeks  later,  to  receive  a  letter  from  the 
jeweler  saying  that  he  took  profound  satisfaction 
in  the  thought  that  the  most  sumptuous  array  of 
diamonds  in  the  world  was,  after  all,  to  belong  to 
the  best  and  most  beautiful  of  queens. 

Unable  to  understand  this,  she  sent  the  Princess 
Lamballe  to  the  jeweler,  who  was  thunderstruck  to 
learn  that  she  came  to  deny  that  the  queen  had 
ordered  the  diamonds.  His  story  filled  the  princess 
with  horror,  for  she  saw  at  a  glance  the  snare  which 
had  been  set  for  the  queen.  The  crown  jeweler  was 
not  mad.  Like  the  Cardinal,  he  was  the  victim  of 
a  bold  and  infamous  intrigue.  How  did  it  all 
happen  ? 

Madame  de  la  Motte,  always  on  the  lookout  for 
new  frauds,  saw  how  the  matter  might  be  made  the 
occasion  of  an  unprecedented  swindle,  and  her  fer- 


138  Boyal  Women 

tile  imagination  turned  toward  carrying  it  out. 
She  told  the  jeweler  that  the  queen  desired  to  pur- 
chase the  necklace  which  she  had  long  wanted,  but 
being  averse  to  treating  directly  with  the  firm,  she 
had  entrusted  the  affair  to  a  certain  nobleman  in  her 
confidence.  Then,  by  means  of  a  steady  stream  of 
forged  letters,  she  had  succeeded  in  persuading  the 
Cardinal  that  the  queen  wished  to  get  possession 
of  the  necklace  without  the  king's  knowledge  and 
pay  for  it  in  installments  from  her  private  purse  — 
that  she  gave  this  proof  of  her  friendliness  to  him- 
self by  allowing  him  to  arrange  the  affair  for  her. 
He  went  to  the  jeweler's  and  the  contract  containing 
the  conditions  of  the  sale  was  placed  in  his  hands 
for  the  queen's  signature.  A  few  daj^s  later  it  was 
back  in  the  jeweler's  possession  and  written  across 
the  face  of  it  were  the  words :  "  Approved.  Marie 
Antoinette  de  France" — forged,  of  course.  The 
next  day  the  Cardinal  went  to  j\Iadamc's  lodgings 
accompanied  by  a  servant  who  carried  the  necklace 
in  its  case.  She  told  him  that  the  queen  had  sent  a 
special  messenger  for  it.  The  Cardinal  saw  Madame 
give  the  case  to  the  queen's  supposed  messenger, 
and  the  great  fraud  was  accomplished. 

From  this  day  forth,  until  her  discovery,  INIadame 
lived  in  luxury.  The  golden  stream  never  ran  dry. 
The  necklace  was  taken  apart.  She  kept  for  her- 
self the  small  stones  which  could  not  be  identified, 


Marie  Antoinette  139 

but  English  jewelers  bought  the  large  ones  and 
when  the  investigation  was  opened  sent  the  papers 
to  Louis  Sixteenth  to  prove  it.  All  the  time,  the 
queen  had  been  in  ignorance  of  the  whole  affair, 
but  at  last  had  to  be  told.  Her  indignation  was 
indescribable  and  she  declared  that  all  these  hideous 
vices  should  be  unmasked.  So,  a  day  or  so  later, 
as  the  Cardinal  was  on  his  way  to  say  mass  in  the 
chapel  at  Versailles,  he  was  arrested.  Triumphantly 
he  produced  the  letter  giving  him  authority  to  buy 
the  jewels.  But  the  king  only  glanced  at  it  and 
said: 

"  You  can  not  be  so  ignorant.  Prince,  as  not  to 
know  that  the  queens  of  France  sign  only  the  bap- 
tismal name.  Did  not  this  signature,  Marie 
Antoinette  de  France,  prove  to  you  that  the  queen 
did  not  write  that  letter?" 

Then,  seeing  the  Cardinal's  astonishment  and  his 
distress,  the  king  told  him  that  he  desired  not  his 
conviction  but  his  justification,  whereupon  the  whole 
story  came  out. 

The  prelate  was  locked  up  in  the  Bastile,  for 
Louis  Sixteenth,  moved  by  his  wife's  tears  and 
injuries,  determined  to  punish  him  if  he  were  really 
guilty,  and  that  remained  to  be  seen.  All  the  other 
parties  to  the  fraud  found  themselves  likewise  in 
the  Bastile,  and  the  investigation  was  begun.  The 
hearing  lasted  for  nine  months  and  in  those  nine 


140  Boijal  Women 

months  many  things  happened.  Each  party  had 
its  friends  and  sympathizers.  The  queen's  inno- 
cence in  the  matter  was  undisputed,  but  so  many 
elements  centered  in  the  trial  that  the  result  was 
only  what  was  to  be  expected.  Louis  Sixteenth 
held  that  when  a  dignitary  like  the  Cardinal  became 
entangled  in  an  affair  so  scandalous  he  ought  to  be 
punished  like  a  common  felon.  The  Holy  Father 
objected  to  having  one  of  his  Cardinals  punished  as 
an  ordinary  criminal.  In  addition  to  all  this,  the 
never-quiet  enemies  of  the  queen  were  secretly  at 
work.  The  revolutionary  feeling  was  growing 
stronger  every  day.  There  was  want  and  hunger 
in  Paris,  and  the  people  were  urged  to  believe  that 
their  queen  had  been  guilty  of  this  great  extrava- 
gance while  they  could  not  buy  bread. 

The  verdict  was  rendered  late  at  night.  The 
Cardinal  was  acquitted  by  a  majority  of  three.  The 
judgment  declared  that  the  words  "Approved. 
Marie  Antoinette  de  France"  were  forged.  There 
was  not  in  the  whole  verdict  a  single  word  condemn- 
ing the  Cardinal  or  any  mention  of  his  relations 
with  Madame  de  la  Motte.  The  latter,  however, 
was  condemned  to  be  beaten,  naked,  with  a  rope 
around  her  neck  —  to  be  branded  with  the  letter  V 
on  both  shoulders  by  the  public  executioner,  and 
then  taken  to  the  House  of  Correction  to  be 
imprisoned  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 


Marie  Antoinette  141 

When  the  verdict  was  announced,  the  crowd 
broke  forth  in  uproarious  applause.  The  Cardinal 
received  the  most  enthusiastic  ovations  on  his  return 
to  his  house.  But  a  few  hours  later  there  came 
from  Louis  Sixteenth  the  command  to  send  back 
the  ribbon  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  hand 
in  his  resignation  as  Grand  Almoner  of  France,  and 
to  betake  himself  to  his  Abbey  of  Chaise-Dieu  in 
Auvergne.  Sensible  and  reasonable  people  appre- 
ciated the  king's  position,  but,  alas,  such  people 
were  rare  in  Paris  in  1786. 

Visitors  to  the  portrait  gallery  in  the  palace  of 
Versailles  always  stop  long  before  one  picture  which 
has  an  unusual  interest  and  charm  and  beauty.  It 
is  a  painting  of  Marie  Antoinette  surrounded  by 
her  children,  made  by  Madame  Vigee  Lebrun.  The 
expression  on  the  queen's  face  is  gentle,  full  of 
dignit}',  but  dreamy  and  melancholy.  To  her  right 
a  little  maid  of  eight  leans  against  her  mother's 
shoulder.  On  her  knees  is  a  two-year-old  —  Louis 
Charles,  the  little  Duke  of  Normandy.  To  the  left 
is  an  empty  cradle,  the  covering  of  which  is  upheld 
by  a  child  of  five  or  six  who  wears  the  blue  ribbon 
and  insignia  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  It 
is  the  Dauphin.  Even  the  children's  faces  are 
thoughtful  except  the  baby,  who  is  at  the  age  still 
when  mental  suffering  is  not  known.  Life  has  not 
yet  become  all  sorrow  for  the  queen.    All  the  slan- 


142  Boyal  Women 

ders  and  evil  tongues  had  not  been  able  to  disturb 
the  harmony  which  existed  between  Louis  Sixteenth 
and  his  wife.  They  had  had  peace  within,  in  spite 
of  the  storms  without,  but  at  the  time  this  picture 
was  painted,  their  ^^oungest  child,  the  little  Princess 
Sophia  Beatrix,  had  just  died,  and  the  queen's  heart 
was  full  of  that  exquisite  anguish  which  none  but  a 
mother  can  feel  when  her  children  are  no  more. 
When  the  painting  was  finished  it  was  placed  in  the 
hall  of  one  of  the  grand  apartments  through  which 
the  queen  passed  daily  on  her  way  to  mass.  But 
there  came  a  day  when  she  could  not  endure  to 
look  at  it,  and  the  king,  seeing  that  it  affected  her 
so  sadly,  had  it  removed.  To  this  act  we  owe  the 
preservation  of  the  picture.  Had  it  been  left  there 
the  fish-women  and  ruffians  who  attempted  to  assas- 
sinate the  queen  and  destroy  the  palace  would 
undoubtedly  have  ruined  it. 

One  evening  not  long  before  this  picture  was 
made,  the  queen  sat  in  her  boudoir  with  her  friend, 
the  Princess  Lamballe.  Four  candles  were  burning 
on  the  dressing-table.  One  went  out.  The  princess 
re-lighted  it.  The  second  went  out,  then  the  third. 
The  queen  sprang  to  her  feet  and  said,  "  Misfor- 
tune has  made  me  superstitious.  If  the  other  candle 
goes  out  it  is  certainly  an  evil  omen ! "  Then  the 
fourth  candle  went  out.  No  doubt  a  draught  was 
responsible  for  the  going  out  of  the  candles,  but 


]Marie  Antoinette  and  her  children 


Marie  Antoinette  143 

in  reality  the  most  terrible  blow  whicli  had  yet  be- 
fallen her  was  at  this  moment  hanging  over  the 
queen's  head.  She  was  about  to  lose  her  oldest  son, 
the  Dauphin,  whose  birth  seven  years  before  had 
filled  all  France  with  rejoicing.  The  little  lad,  while 
apparently  in  flourishing  health,  was  attacked  sud- 
denly by  the  rickets,  which  curved  his  spine,  hol- 
lowed his  pretty  face,  and  made  his  limbs  so  weak 
that  he  could  not  walk.  He  became  so  reduced  that 
his  appearance  made  a  painful  impression  and  his 
mother  was  unwilling  that  anyone  should  see  him. 
She  knew  that  the  heir  to  the  throne  was  doomed, 
and  beneath  her  crown  she  felt  the  iron  nails  that 
pierced  her  brow.  The  little  prince  died  in  the 
night  in  her  arms,  and  this  cruel  addition  to  her 
sorrows  broke  the  queen's  heart.  Her  beautiful 
hair  turned  snow  white,  although  she  was  but 
thirty-four  years  old. 

By  the  death  of  the  oldest  son  the  little  Duke 
of  Normandy  became  the  Dauphin.  This  child,  the 
future  Louis  Seventeenth,  destined  to  so  tragic  an 
end,  was  thought  at  his  birth  to  have  been  born 
under  a  lucky  star.  He  was  born  on  Easter  Sun- 
day. He  was  but  four  years  old  and  a  remarkably 
handsome  child.  Could  the  queen  have  looked  into 
the  future  and  seen  the  brutal  face  of  Simon,  the 
cobbler,  rise  like  a  spectre  and  walk  alwajs  beside 
this  little  one  —  could  she  have  lifted  the  curtain 


144  lloyal  Women 

but  for  ca  moment  and  seen  her  only  daughter,  the 
httle  Duchess  of  Angouleme,  left  to  face  life  soli- 
tary and  alone  after  she  and  the  good  King  Louis 
were  no  more,  then,  doubtless,  she  would  gladly  have 
robed  them  both  for  tlie  tomb  with  her  own  hands 
and  thanked  God  that  the  privilege  was  hers. 

Historians,  almost  with  one  accord,  accuse  Louis 
Sixteenth  of  weakness.  Perhaps  his  abilities  were 
not  so  splendid  as  those  of  some,  but  that  charac- 
teristic which  has  come  down  to  us  in  history  as 
weakness  was  in  reality  only  an  earnest  desire  to 
keep  the  peace.  The  spirit  of  the  queen  was  roused 
to  the  highest  pitch  at  the  indignities  and  insults 
heaped  upon  him,  and  after  the  manner  of  wives 
she  urged  her  husband  not  to  submit  to  them.  But 
that  gentle  dignity  and  courtesy  which  made  the 
king  beloved  of  all  who  knew  him,  prevailed  over 
his  desire  to  retaliate  when  he  knew  that  retaliation 
meant  strife  and  struggle  and  hoped  that  forbear- 
ance might  perhaps  bring  peace. 

It  was  too  late  to  bring  peace  to  France.  It  was 
too  late  when  Louis  Sixteenth  was  born  to  bring 
peace  to  France.  The  cauldron  had  seethed  for 
too  many  centuries  for  any  amount  of  forbearance 
to  bring  peace  to  France.  The  king  summoned  the 
States-General  Assembly  for  the  purpose  of  ascer- 
taining the  desires  of  the  people  and  seeing  what 
could  be  done  to  grant  them,  but  when  he  did  so. 


Marie  Antoinette  145 

he  signed  his  own  death  warrant  and  that  of  his 
family  and  friends.  With  the  assembhng  of  that 
convention  the  representatives  learned  their  power, 
and  when  subjects  no  longer  fear  their  king  the 
days  of  his  rule  are  done. 

Like  the  sudden  stillness  which  precedes  a  sum- 
mer storm,  before  the  thunder  begins  to  rumble 
and  the  lightning  to  flash,  there  came  a  lull  in  the 
turmoil  in  France.  There  was  a  brilliant  social 
period  in  which  enthusiastic  people  grouped  them- 
selves together  and  ever3'body  who  could  read  be- 
came a  politician.  Each  imagined  that  he  or  she 
(for  the  politicians  were  not  confined  to  the  men) 
had  solved  the  problem  of  the  deficit  in  the  treas- 
ury, but  like  the  astronomer  in  the  fable,  while 
they  gazed  at  the  stars  they  fell  into  the  well.  The 
king  was  deceived  by  the  quiet  before  the  tempest, 
but  is  it  strange  that  a  king  is  no  wiser  than  his 
generation.''  His  m.istakes  were  only  those  of  his 
time.  It  would  have  required,  and  did  require,  a 
mighty  military  genius  to  quell  the  insubordination 
which  was  rife  in  France. 

Soon  it  became  evident  that  a  great  crisis  was 
impending.  Some  one  bestowed  upon  the  queen  the 
title  of  Madame  Deficit,  and  the  unreasonable  anger 
against  her  broke  out  anew.  She  perceived  that 
she  was  betrayed  on  all  sides.  In  justice  to  her  it 
must  be  said  that  she  understood  fully  that  the  sum- 


146  Royal  Women 

moning  of  the  States-General  would  be  fatal  to 
royalty.  On  the  day  tlmt  she  learned  that  the  king 
had  decided  to  convoke  them  she  said  to  her  friend, 
the  Princess  Lamballe,  "Louis  has  permitted  the 
States-General  to  be  summoned."  And  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause  she  added,  "  This  important  event  is 
a  gloomy  token  for  France ! " 

She  was  right.  From  the  opening  of  the  As- 
sembly they  set  up  in  opposition  to  the  king  what 
they  were  pleased  to  call  the  Nation,  but  the  real 
French  Nation  was  at  heart  with  the  king  whom 
they  loved  and  honored  —  whose  loyalty  and  kind- 
ness and  virtues  they  respected  and  esteemed.  But 
there  were  a  few  ambitious  spirits  (as  there  are  in 
every  such  convention)  who  were  determined  to 
impress  upon  the  Assembly  and  the  people  at  large 
that  a  handful  of  revolutionists  was  the  French 
Nation. 

It  did  not  take  the  queen  long  to  perceive  the 
singular  malevolence  displayed  toward  the  royal 
family  which  the  deputies  had  brought  from  their 
provinces.  Affable  and  charming,  she  endeavored 
to  bring  them  back  to  kindlier  feeling,  but  nothing 
can  correct  or  improve  men  of  bad  faith.  She 
heard  with  the  utmost  amazement  their  strange 
questions  about  the  king's  alleged  intemperance  and 
the  Asiatic  luxury  of  Petit  Trianon.  The  simplic- 
ity of  this  country  house  did  not  correspond  with 


Marie  Antoinette  147 

the  idea  some  of  them  had  formed  of  it,  so  they 
declared  that  when  they  visited  it  the  most  sumptu- 
ously furnished  rooms  were  closed  to  them.  They 
insisted  on  being  shown  an  imaginary  drawing- 
room  which  they  said  had  twisted  columns  deco- 
rated with  diamonds,  rubies,  and  sapphires. 

Marie  Antoinette  did  her  best  to  be  civil  to  these 
malicious  men.  She  did  the  honors  of  Versailles 
with  exquisite  grace  and  kindness,  talked  with  them 
about  their  families  and  their  local  interests,  but  a 
secret  instinct  told  her  it  was  all  useless.  She  fell 
back  into  her  customary  anxiety.  She  felt  crushed, 
overwhelmed.  She  saw  the  king's  indecision  in  these 
stormy  times  with  alarm.  Her  position  became  most 
painful.  It  was  becoming  dangerous  for  the  royal 
family  and  friends  to  remain  in  France.  The  king 
ordered  them  all  to  leave.  In  vain  did  his  brother, 
the  Comte  d'Artois,  who  was  courage  personified, 
beg  to  stay  by  the  king's  side  and  share  his  fate. 
The  latter  would  not  permit  it.  So  the  three  sons 
of  France  and  the  four  princes  of  the  blood,  filled 
witli  many  forebodings,  took  leave  of  the  king 
whom  they  were  never  more  to  see.  The  queen  sent 
also  for  the  Countess  Polignac,  the  Princess  Lam- 
ballc,  and  Madame  Campan,  and  gave  them  the 
same  orders.  They,  too,  protested.  Their  depart- 
ure seemed  to  them  dishonorable  desertion,  but  by 
midnight  all  were  on  the  way  to  the  frontier.    Only 


148  Royal  Women 

one  remained.  This  was  Madame  Elizabeth,  the 
king's  sister.  There  are  few  figures  in  history  so 
sympathetic.  She  had  known  sorrow  from  her 
cradle,  had  lost  both  parents  in  infancy.  Her 
brother,  Louis  Sixteenth,  she  fondly  loved,  and 
every  pang  he  bore  was  hers  also.  She  refused  all 
offers  of  marriage,  telling  him  that  she  would  rather 
stand  at  the  foot  of  his  throne  than  to  mount  to  the 
top  of  any  other  in  Christendom.  She  met  her 
fate  with  the  king  and  queen,  her  only  crime  being 
that  she  was  the  king's  sister. 

A  few  3^ears  before,  when  the  monarchy  was  at 
its  height,  one  of  the  brightest  lights  at  the  court 
of  Marie  Antoinette  was  the  j^oung  Marquis  de  la 
Fayette.*  The  queen  had  made  him  her  debtor  by 
many  kindnesses,  but  the  main-spring  of  his  nature 
was  an  unbounded  love  of  fame.  Although  he  had 
been  honored,  and  although  his  birth  should  have 
attached  him  to  the  monarchy  and  made  him  the 
most  faithful  of  the  king's  servants,  he  forsook  his 
sovereigns  and  took  part  in  forging  the  chain  of 
events  calculated  to  weaken  the  throne  which  it 
was  his  first  duty  to  defend.     He  liked  to  try  his 

•  Wo  look  back  with  grateful  romombraiioo  npon  the  service 
which  this  man  renrlored  us  in  our  War  of  Independence,  but  no 
military  career,  however  brilliant,  can  disguise  the  fact  that 
although  he  lent  his  assistance  to  iis  in  our  distress  he  aban- 
doned his  queen  to  hers.  The  one  man  in  France  who  might 
have  saved  this  queen-mother  from  the  terrors  of  the  guillotine 
was  this  seeker  after  fame  in  foreign  lands  —  the  Marquis  de  la 
Fayette. 


Marie  Antoinette  149 

power  —  to  formulate  a  riot  one  day  and  quell  it 
the  next.  But  there  came  a  day  when  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  stem  the  tide  and  it  bore  him  down 
the  stream. 

Fear  of  personal  danger  was  not  one  of  King 
Louis'  weaknesses.  In  proof  of  this  he  left  Ver- 
sailles and  entered  Paris  alone,  with  a  courage 
equaled  onl}'  by  his  honesty  of  purpose.  But  affairs 
had  reached  such  a  pitch  in  France  that  naught  but 
a  miracle  could  have  resisted  the  wave  which  threat- 
ened to  inundate  the  land.  Finally  there  came 
that  terrible  sixth  of  October  —  the  half-drunken 
women  running  about  the  streets  crying  that  there 
was  no  bread,  a  crowd  of  idlers,  beggars,  and 
thieves,  singing  and  shouting  jests  and  threats  of 
violence  and  vengeance.  At  last  they  took  up  the 
cry,  "On  to  Versailles!"  and  the  march  was  begun. 

When  they  arrived  a  guard  asked  the  king  if 
he  had  any  orders  for  repelling  the  attack. 
"  What ! "  said  the  good-natured  king,  "  fight 
women.?  Surely  you  are  jesting!"  Toward  night 
a  storm  of  rain  fell  and  dispersed  the  rioters  and 
the  royal  family  retired.  Everything  was  at  rest  — 
except  crime.  There  was  no  sleep  for  the  furies 
who  had  sworn  that  the  queen  should  die.  At  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  rabble  broke  into  the 
palace.  They  killed  the  first  guard  who  called  to 
the  second,  who  passed  the  alarm  along.     The  last 


l.>0  JRoijal  Women 

one  broke  open  the  door  to  the  queen's  room  and 
cried,  "  Save  the  queen,  save  the  queen  —  they  have 
come  to  kill  her!  We  will  die  —  but  save  the 
queen ! " 

The  queen's  ladies  hurried  her  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room  where  there  Mas  a  secret  stairway  lead- 
ing to  the  apartments  of  the  king.  He,  filled  with 
anxiety  for  her,  had  taken  the  other  passage  and 
reached  her  room  after  she  had  left  it.  He  returned 
immediately  to  find  her  safe  in  his  own  apartments 
with  the  royal  children,  and  the  National  Guard 
then  entered  the  palace  and  restored  order  for  that 
night.  But  on  the  next  daj^  the  king  and  queen 
were  driven  to  Paris,  and  the  heads  of  the  faithful 
guards  who  had  died  for  them  were  carried  before 
them  on  pikes.  The  rabble  jeered  and  shouted  that 
there  would  be  no  more  hunger  in  Paris !  They 
were  bringing  the  Baker  and  the  Baker's  Wife  and 
the  Baker's  Little  Boy ! 

Thus  did  Louis  Sixteenth  and  his  queen  depart 
from  Versailles.  They  were  vanquished.  Never- 
more would  the  Revolution  allow  them  to  return. 
Well  they  knew  that  they  had  taken  their  last 
look  at  that  magnificent  palace.  The  shaded  walks, 
the  fountains,  the  beautiful  galleries,  the  little 
chapel  where  the  ro^^al  family  of  France  had 
prayed  for  peace,  the  park,  the  statues,  the  mighty 
trees  —  all  would  soon  become  a  memory.     Upon 


Marie  Antoinette  151 

this  funeral  procession  of  royalty  a  gorgeous  sun- 
set shone  as  if  in  mockery.  The  autumn  glowed 
with  its  last  splendor.  The  birds  still  sang  in  the 
woods,  but  authority,  discipline,  honor  —  every- 
thing that  makes  for  a  nation's  power  and  glory 
had  been  insulted  in  the  person  of  the  king  and 
queen.  What  a  large  volume  of  the  history  of 
France  is  written  in  the  palace  of  ^^ersailles !  There 
the  dead  have  voices  and  the  stones  a  language. 
They  whisper  of  the  bitter  emptiness  of  glory,  the 
torments  of  ambition,  the  disappointments  of  van- 
ity, the  hollowness  of  greatness.  Where  are  the 
thrones,  the  crowns,  the  ashes,  even,  of  those  who 
reigned  within  its  walls  ? 

When  the  king  and  queen  reached  Paris  they 
were  lodged  in  the  Tuileries.*  It  was  not  without 
sadness  that  they  entered.  How  sombre  it  seemed 
in  comparison  to  the  beauty  of  Versailles !  This 
edifice,  which  events  had  stamped  with  a  character 
of  profound  sadness,  was  gloomy  and  out  of  repair. 
Its  tapestries  were  faded,  its  arches  damaged  by  the 
weather,  yet  even  in  its  dilapidated  condition  it  told 
a  story  of  things  once  beautiful  and  brilliant.  Now 
they  were  mouldy  with  decay.  The  presence  of  the 
king,  however,  quelled  the  storm.  It  grew  quiet. 
The  Princess  Lamballe   rejoined  the  queen,   who 

*  This  historic  pile  is  now  no  more.  What  the  revolutionists 
spared  in  1789  the  communists  in  1871  had  no  mercy  for.  Only 
a  few  years  ago  the  last  of  its  debris  was  removed. 


152  Boynl  Warn  en 

remained  in  her  own  apartments  supervising  the 
education  of  her  children.  One  of  her  suite  said 
to  her  one  da}': 

"Your  Majesty  is  a  prisoner." 

"  What  are  you  saying  to  me  ?  "  she  cried. 

"It  is  true,  Your  Majesty.  From  the  moment 
you  ceased  to  have  a  guard  of  lionor,  you  became 
a  prisoner.  You  take  precaution  now  to  see  that 
no  one  is  hstening  at  the  door.  Would  you  have 
done  that  with  your  guards  ?  " 

The  queen  burst  into  tears.  It  was  true.  She 
knew  it.  The  royal  family  were  prisoners.  Those 
who  loved  the  queen,  even  the  king  himself,  urged 
her  to  take  her  children  and  flee  in  disguise  while 
yet  there  was  time.  Scornfulh'  and  with  indigna- 
tion she  refused.  She  declared  her  intention  of 
remaining  at  her  post  of  duty  and  danger  and  of 
d^nng  at  the  king's  feet. 

One  day,  hearing  threatening  cries  in  the  street, 
she  stepped  out  on  a  balcony  holding  her  children 
by  the  hand.  The  picture  of  her  as  she  stood  thus, 
should  have  disarmed  the  most  ferocious  hatred. 
But  the  Revolution  was  without  pity.  Neither 
motherhood  nor  childhood  could  affect  it.  The  very 
next  day  the  Assembly  deprived  the  king  of  his 
power  of  pardoning,  and  this  completed  his  humilia- 
tion. "  They  have  taken  away  my  liberty,"  he 
said.     "  Now  thcv  forbid  me  to  be  merciful." 


Marie  Antoinette  153 

Finally,  at  the  earnest  counsel  of  his  friends, 
the  king  himself  determined  on  flight.  But  how? 
How  could  he  quit  the  palace  and  the  city  without 
being  recognized?  Six  hundred  guards  were  on 
duty  at  the  Tuileries  —  two  mounted  sentries  posted 
always  before  the  outer  doors.  Sentinels  every- 
where, inside  and  out.  In  addition  to  the  guards, 
there  were  the  servants,  still  more  dangerous. 
Almost  every  one  was  a  spy.  Escape  seemed  impos- 
sible. But  captives  are  ingenious.  The  queen  dis- 
covered an  unused  door  in  her  apartments  hidden 
by  a  large  piece  of  furniture.  Here  was  a  means 
of  leaving  the  palace  at  least.  Painfully  they  com- 
pleted their  preparations.  The  Baroness  de  KorfF, 
a  noble  Russian  lady,  was  about  to  depart  from 
France  with  her  two  children,  and  had  applied  to 
the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  for  passports. 
Learning  this,  the  queen  sent  a  trusted  messenger 
to  her  who  explained  the  terrible  straits  of  the  royal 
family.  The  Baroness  gave  him  her  passports  for 
use  in  escape  and  thus  destroyed  her  chance  of 
returning  to  her  own  country. 

The  twentieth  of  June  was  the  day  set  for  the 
departure  and  the  flight  was  to  take  place  at  mid- 
night. What  a  day  of  anxiety  it  was!  The 
servants  whispered  to  each  other.  La  Fayette  took 
up  his  abode  in  the  palace  and  doubled  the  guards 
in  all  directions.     The  queen  was  in  despair,  but 


154  lioyal  Women 

the  king  knew  that  if  they  could  only  keep  them 
from  suspecting  anything  they  could  get  away.  At 
last  the  day  passed.  Evening  came.  The  king  and 
queen  received  the  usual  visitors.  The  ordinary 
order  of  the  day  had  been  scrupulously  observed. 
Orders  were  given  the  servants  for  the  next  da}'. 
The  doors  were  closed  and  locked.  Everybody  went 
to  bed.  A  few  moments  later,  however,  the  royal 
family  was  up  again.  The  large  number  of  people 
employed  at  the  palace  who  went  home  at  night 
made  escape  a  little  less  difficult.  The}'  did  not  all 
leave  at  once.  The  children  with  their  governess 
went  first.  A  few  moments  later,  the  king  and 
queen  followed,  then  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  king's 
sister.  The  Dauphin  was  dressed  as  a  little  girl. 
The  king  arrayed  himself  as  the  steward  of  the 
Baroness  de  Korff.  The  queen  wore  a  plain,  brown 
dress  and  a  small  hat  with  a  veil.  They  took  sepa- 
rate paths  to  the  spot  where  the  carriage  was  to 
meet  them.  The  queen  lost  her  way  in  that  vast 
space  which  separated  the  Tuileries  from  the  Louvre 
and  while  seeking  the  path  was  passed  by  La  Fay- 
ette and  the  guards  on  the  round  of  inspection.  At 
last  she  found  her  way  to  the  carriage  where  all 
waited  in  great  anxiety.  "Drive  fast!"  was  the 
order,  and  the  journey  which  was  to  end  so  disas- 
trously began  well. 

When  thev   reached  the  rendezvous   where   the 


Marie  Antoinette  155 

troops  were  to  meet  them,  however,  they  met  a 
painful  surprise.  They  were  not  there.  The  son 
of  the  station  master,  young  Drouet,  recognized  the 
king,  followed  the  carriage  on  horseback,  and  de- 
nounced him.  When  the  party  reached  Varennes 
someone  cried  "  Halt !  Show  j^our  passport ! "  The 
latter  proved  all  right,  but  the  rumor  had  gotten 
about  that  the  carriage  contained  the  king.  He 
was  detained.  The  whole  town  surrounded  the 
little  party.  They  were  taken  to  the  city  hall. 
Louis  did  not  admit  that  he  was  the  king,  but 
finally,  when  she  could  endure  it  no  longer,  the 
queen  cried  out,  "Very  well,  then.  If  he  is  the 
king,  respect  him ! "  Then  they  were  definitely 
arrested  and  the  journey  was  begun  back  to  Paris 
—  that  city  of  affliction,  of  supreme  humiliation. 

That  journey  back  to  Paris!  On  the  road  to 
anguish  and  humiliation,  this  once-splendid  queen, 
shut  up  with  her  family  in  a  close  carriage  which 
moved  slowly,  like  a  hearse,  calumniated,  threat- 
ened, insulted,  dressed  in  the  modest  gown  of  a 
governess,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears,  her  hair  turned 
white  from  grief,  thought,  as  always,  of  the  others 
first.  As  they  passed  along,  the  rabble  climbed 
upon  the  carriage  steps  and  hurled  vile  epithets  in 
her  face.     She  said  with  gentle  dignity: 

"  For  pity's  sake,  friends,  give  us  air.  My  little 
children  are  choking; ! " 


156  Boyal  Women 

"  Ball !  "  replied  one  of  the  furies,  "  we  will  soon 
choke  you  in  another  fashion ! " 

The  journey  came  to  an  end  at  last.  They  en- 
tered Paris  and  the  Tuileries.  There  was  something 
deadly  in  the  very  air.  They  heard  threatening 
voices  from  every  tree  and  stone.  Catherine  di 
Medicis  was  right  when  she  declared  that  the 
Tuileries  was  a  residence  foreordained  to  calami- 
ties. Once  more  the  heir  to  Saint  Louis  was  in  his 
prison.  He  was  no  longer  a  king.  He  was  a 
hostage.  One  day  he  closed  his  door.  The  guard 
reopened  it.  Angered,  the  king  said,  "  Do  you 
recognize  me,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  Sire,"  replied  the  guard.  Tlie  king  again 
closed  the  door.  The  guard  instantly  reopened  it. 
and  said: 

"  If  Your  Majesty  closes  the  door,  Your  Majesty 
will  give  yourself  a  useless  trouble,  for  I  shall  open 
it  each  time." 

Then  the  press  became  insane.  It  dipped  its  pen 
in  filth  and  vitriol  before  the  time  came  to  dip  it  in 
blood.  Its  language  was  that  of  the  fish-market, 
the  cross-roads,  and  the  kennels.  Nothing  pleased 
unless  it  was  clothed  in  obscene  speech,  mean  and 
cruel  jests.  Finally  the  rabble  invaded  the 
Tuileries.  After  four  hours  at  the  Assembly,  hours 
of  peril  and  sorrow  during  which  the  king  had  even 
put  on  the  red  bonnet   of  the  Revolution  in  his 


Marie  Antoinette  157 

endeavor  to  keep  the  peace,  he  returned  to  the 
palace,  not  knowing  what  had  become  of  his  wife 
and  children.  Below  in  the  streets  he  heard  the 
cries  of  the  bloodthirsty  crowd.  They  were 
shouting : 

"  Where  is  the  Austrian  woman  ?  Throw  us  down 
her  head ! " 

In  the  hour  of  all  this  calamity,  a  slender,  pale 
young  man  stood  looking  down  from  an  upper  ter- 
race upon  this  unruly  horde.  He  comprehended  in 
some  manner  the  long  suffering  of  King  Louis. 
His  eyes  flashed  and  he  said  to  a  companion  in 
indignation : 

"  How  dared  they  ever  let  that  rabble  get  so  near 
the  king !  I  should  have  turned  the  cannon  on  them 
and  swept  four  or  five  hundred  of  them  away.  You 
would  soon  have  seen  the  rest  run ! " 

This  man,  obscure  and  hidden  in  the  crowd,  poor 
and  unknown,  standing  opposite  that  palace  where 
later  he  was  to  play  so  great  a  part  —  who  was  he .'' 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  Corsican. 

On  the  tenth  of  August  came  the  demand  for 
the  royal  family  to  appear  before  the  Assembly. 
Ostensibly  it  was  for  tlic  purpose  of  protecting 
them.  In  reality  it  was  but  to  blaze  a  pathway  to 
the  scaffold.  The  queen  was  averse  to  going,  but 
was  unwilling  to  forsake  the  king.  When  she 
looked  into  those  sinister  faces,  stamped  with  bitter 


158  Boyal  Women 

hatred  toward  herself  and  hers,  did  she  remember 
her  august  mother,  JNIaria  Theresa,  when  she 
appeared  before  the  Diet  of  Presburg  with  the 
infant  Joseph  in  her  arms  and  was  greeted  with  the 
ringing  cheers  and  wild  enthusiasm  of  the  nobles, 
who  cried:  Mor'iamur  pro  rege  nostro?  Yes,  she 
did,  and  the  comparison  was  bitter.  In  their 
absence  the  frenzied  populace  broke  into  the  pal- 
ace and  fell  upon  the  guards.  They  set  fire  to  the 
former  and  murdered  the  latter.  The  Swiss 
Guards*  fought  desperately  in  behalf  of  the  king, 
but  were  overwhelmed  and  killed. 

From  the  Assembly  to  the  Temple,  thence  to  the 
Conciergerie  and  the  scaffold  —  it  were  not  long  to 
tell  the  story  to  the  end.  First  came  the  order 
which  deprived  the  king  of  his  sword.  Next,  that 
which  stripped  him  of  all  his  orders  and  decorations 
of  knighthood.  At  last  it  was  determined  to  bring 
him  to  trial. 

The  king  knew  that  his  crown  was  lost,  but  its 
loss  was  less  to  him  than  was  the  silent  sufFerino 
of  his  wife  and  the  fate  which  he  had  no  reason  to 


•  Thp  Swiss  Republic  has  honorod  the  memory  of  these  sons 
of  hers  who  fell  at  their  post.  In  the  side  of  a  rock  at  the 
entrance  of  Lucerne  a  grotto  has  been  hollowed  out.  and  Thor- 
waldsen.  the  Danish  sculptor,  has  carved  in  it  a  colossal  stone 
lion.  Struck  by  a  lance,  the  lion  has  lain  down  to  die,  but  he 
still  holds  tifiht  within  his  paws  the  royal  •■scutcheon  on  a  shield 
adorned  with  Heur-de-lis.  ITnderneath  are  engraved  the  names  of 
the  officers  and  soldiers  who  died  August  tenth,  and  the  simple 
Inscription  reads : 

To  THE  Fidelity  and  CounAGE  of  the  Swiss 


Marie  Antoinette  159 

doubt  would  be  hers.  During  those  last  few  days 
together  he  lavished  on  her  all  the  tenderness  of 
which  his  gentle  nature  was  capable,  and  sought  to 
spare  her  all  he  could.  One  day,  attracted  to  the 
window  by  ferocious  cries  below,  he  saw  a  sight 
which  maddened  him.  He  ran  from  the  apartments 
which  he  had  been  forbidden  to  leave,  knocked  down 
the  guard  who  would  have  stopped  him,  threw  his 
weight  against  the  door  of  the  queen's  room  and 
broke  it  open.  She  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  saw 
that  she  had  not  seen,  and  gathering  her  in  his  arms, 
he  carried  her  to  his  own  apartment,  begging  her 
not  to  look  down  into  the  street.  It  was  all  in 
vain.  The  fiends  were  not  to  be  thwarted.  They 
entered  the  Temple  and  filled  the  corridors  with 
their  cries.  At  last  they  found  her  with  the  king. 
He  put  his  hands  over  her  eyes,  but  it  was  too  late. 
She  had  already  seen  that  the  leader  carried  a  pike, 
and  on  it,  her  glorious  hair,  four  feet  in  length, 
falling  around  it,  Marie  Antoinette  saw  the  head 
of  her  beloved  friend,  the  Princess  Lamballe.  She 
fell  into  such  violent  convulsions  that  they  thought 
she  would  die,  and  the  leader  roughly  ordered  them 
all  to  disperse,  saying : 

"We  don't  want  her  to  die  a  natural  death!" 

A  few  days  before,  the  princess  had  been  called 

before  the  Tribunal  as  hundreds  of  others  had  been. 

In  accordance  with  their  methods  they  had  asked 


160  Soyal  Women 

her  a  few  perfunctory  questions,  and  then  said, 
"  Libre!  "  (free).  She  turned  to  go,  but  instead  of 
taking  her  back  by  the  same  door  through  which 
she  had  come,  they  threw  open  another  and  led 
her  out  into  a  courtyard  filled  with  headless,  muti- 
lated, putrefying  bodies.  The  princess  fainted,  and 
as  she  fell  the  guard  struck  her  a  blow  in  the  back 
of  the  head  with  a  halberd,  rendering  her  uncon- 
scious. Then,  with  inconceivable  brutalit}',  they 
cut  off  her  head  and  dragged  her  nude  body 
through  the  streets  of  Paris  till  not  a  vestige  of  it 
remained.  Her  father,  the  Due  de  Penthievre, 
offered  a  million  francs  to  anyone  who  would  return 
the  body  to  him,  proving  it  was  hers,  but  no  trace 
of  it  was  ever  found. 

Previous  to  this  episode  the  king  and  queen  had 
been  allowed  to  see  each  other  at  certain  hours  of 
the  day.  Now  they  were  separated  entirely,  and 
another  example  of  the  king's  fortitude  and  unsel- 
fishness was  made  manifest.  Lest  his  innocent  chil- 
dren should  prove  messengers  between  them,  they 
were  ordered  to  remain  with  cither  the  one  or  the 
other.  Knowing  how  their  mother  would  suffer, 
sorely  as  he  longed  for  the  comfort  of  their  pres- 
ence himself,  the  king  told  the  guard  to  take  them 
to  her  and  accepted  the  decree  of  the  Council  in  all 
its  pitiless  cruelty. 

Then  came  the  end  for  him  —  the  mockery  of  the 


be 


Marie  Antoinette  IGl 

trial  of  a  king  before  a  Tribunal  composed  of  car- 
penters, tailors,  loafers,  idlers,  the  scum  of  all  Paris. 
Then  the  sentence.  The  queen  was  kept  in 
ignorance,  although  she  had  no  doubt  what  the 
result  would  be.  The  king  was  roused  from  his 
bed  to  hear  it  and  was  told  that  it  was  to  be  carried 
out  the  next  day. 

The  only  mercy  shown  them  was  permission  to 
say  good-by  alone.  The  guards  closed  the  glass 
doors,  through  which  they  could  see  but  could  not 
hear.  The  king  was  calm,  but  the  queen's  mute 
suffering  broke  his  heart.  She  clung  to  him  in 
speechless  agony,  asking  only  that  she  might  see 
him  again  the  next  morning.  He  promised  her  it 
should  be  so,  but  after  she  was  gone  he  determined 
for  both  their  sakes  not  to  see  her  again.  So  in 
the  morning  while  she  waited,  cries  in  the  street 
told  her  that  all  was  over.  She  sent  for  the  guard 
who  had  stood  in  front  of  the  king's  door,  and 
although  he  knew  he  was  disobeying  orders  and 
what  the  result  might  be,  he  was  so  moved  by  her 
distress  that  he  gave  her  the  message  the  king  had 
begged  him  to  convey. 

"Tell  my  wife,"  he  said,  "how  hard  it  was  not 
to  see  her  again.  Give  her  these,  if  you  find  it 
possible,  and  bear  to  her  my  last  farewell." 

He  dared  not,  at  that  time,  give  her  the  little 
package  which  the  king  had  entrusted  to  him,  but 


162  Boyal  Women 

a  few  daj's  later  managed  to  do  so.  It  contained 
a  lock  of  her  hair  which  the  king  had  carried  in  his 
watch,  his  seal  for  his  son,  and  the  ring  which  the 
little  Archduchess  of  Austria  had  given  the  Dauphin 
of  France  on  the  day  of  their  wedding,  nearly 
twenty  years  before. 

Louis  Sixteenth  died  like  a  Christian  king.  They 
advanced  to  bind  his  hands  and  he  started  back 
in  astonishment.  But  the  old  priest  who  accom- 
panied him  said: 

"  Sire,  this  is  the  last  indignity.  Remember  that 
the  Saviour  submitted  to  be  bound." 

It  was  in  the  king's  heart  to  ask  that  howling 
mob  to  be  content  with  his  death  —  to  let  him  pay 
all  and  spare  his  wife  and  children.  But  when  he 
tried  to  speak,  the  officer  in  charge  ordered  the 
guard  to  beat  the  drum  that  his  voice  might  not  be 
heard.  Only  one  man  had  the  courage  to  speak. 
This  was  the  gra}^  old  priest.  In  the  silence  which 
fell  as  the  ax  descended,  he  cried  aloud : 

"  Ascend  to  heaven,  son  of  Saint  Louis !  " 

The  furies  in  the  shape  of  women  who  sat,  day 
after  day,  at  the  foot  of  the  guillotine  with  their 
knitting  in  order  to  see  the  heads  fall,  the  fiends 
who  had  hastened  the  king's  execution  in  fear  that 
the  nation  at  large  would  make  an  attempt  to  rescue 
him,  for  the  moment  were  awed  into  silence. 

While  the  king  lived  there  had  been  a  feeling 


Louis  Sixteenth  before  the  bar  of  the  convention 


I.ouis  Sixteenth  on  llie  seaifold 


Marie  Antoinette  163 

that  the  queen  had  a  protector.  Moreover,  her 
brother,  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  had  stood  behind 
her.  Now  both  were  dead,  and  the  page  which 
ends  this  sad,  eventful  history  was  about  to  be 
turned.  One  night,  she  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth 
sat  mending  their  clothing  by  the  light  of  a  candle. 
The  door  was  thrown  rudely  open,  and  six  burly 
men  entered,  saying  that  they  had  come  for  the 
Dauphin  who  was  to  be  placed  under  the  care  of  a 
tutor.  Marat  had  recommended  Simon,  the  cob- 
bler, whose  savageness  of  disposition  was  well 
known,  and  at  this  unexpected  calamity  the  queen's 
fortitude  gave  way.  On  her  knees  she  begged  them 
not  to  take  av/ay  her  child,  but  the  ruffians  were 
not  likely  to  feel  or  to  show  pity.  They  abused  and 
threatened  her.  She  begged  them  to  kill  her  and 
be  satisfied.  They  replied  that  they  would  kill  the 
boy  before  her  eyes  if  she  made  further  resistance. 
At  this  awful  alternative  she  woke  the  lad  and 
dressed  him  and  spoke  to  him  the  last  words  he  was 
to  hear  from  his  mother's  lips.  Unconsciousness 
came  mercifully  to  her  relief.  She  heard  not  the 
insults  nor  the  cruel  laughter  as  they  bore  away 
the  boy,  and  if  it  were  not  mockery  to  speak  the 
word,  one  might  say  that  she  was  blest  in  that  she 
knew  not  Simon's  instructions  concerning  him.  He 
was  to  get  rid  of  Mm,  and  he  carried  out  the  instruc- 
tions to  the  letter.     He  practiced  upon  him  the 


164  Royal  Women 

most  revolting  and  unremitting  cruelties.  He 
reviled  and  beat  him.  He  taught  and  made  him 
sing  songs  which  contained  the  most  grossly  vulgar 
allusions  to  his  father  and  mother.  He  made  him 
drink  brandy  till  he  was  thoroughly  drunk.  He 
dressed  him  in  revolutionary  clothes  and  always  con- 
trived that  his  mother  should  catch  a  glimpse  of 
him  in  this  guise.  He  taught  him  everything  that 
was  impious  and  loathsome  and  ruined  him  body 
and  mind.  He  was  not  taken  so  far  away  from  his 
mother  that  she  could  not  hear  his  childish  voice, 
and  on  that  morning  when  she  was  removed  from 
the  Temple  to  the  last  stopping-place  on  her  jour- 
ney, the  Conciergerie,  she  exclaimed  from  a  full 
heart,  "  Thank  God,  I  can  no  longer  hear  him 
sing ! " 

For  six  weeks  she  remained  in  this  prison,  not 
from  any  feeling  of  compunction  or  pity,  but 
because  of  the  absolute  impossibility  of  inventing 
an  accusation  against  her  which  was  not  so  absurd 
and  groundless  as  to  die  a  natural  death  if  pre- 
sented. But  eagerness  for  her  execution  overcame 
all  scruples.  She  was  brought  to  trial.  They 
accused  her  of  trying  to  overthrow  the  republic 
and  reestablish  the  throne,  of  having  exerted  her 
influence  over  her  husband  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
make  him  unjust  to  the  people,  and  in  the  perora- 
tion the  prosecutor  likened  her  to  all  the  wickedest 


< 


Marie  Antoinette  1G.5 

women  of  whom  history,  ancient  or  modern,  has 
preserved  any  record. 

Had  she  been  guided  by  her  own  feehngs  she 
would  have  scorned  to  make  answer.  But  the 
mother  was  strong  in  her,  and  while  she  lived  she 
would  not  renounce  the  hope  of  seeing  her  children 
again,  and  perhaps  some  unforeseen  chance  might 
yet  restore  her  to  freedom  and  her  son  to  the 
throne  of  France.  So  she  resolved  to  stand  trial 
and  to  make  one  last  desperate  effort  to  establish 
her  right  to  acquittal  and  deliverance. 

As  was  the  case  with  the  king,  the  jury  was 
picked  from  the  dregs  of  the  people.  There  were 
blacksmiths,  policemen,  men  of  no  calling.  They 
called  for  the  Widow  Capet.  The  prosecutor  called 
witness  after  witness.  To  his  surprise,  all  testified 
in  her  favor.  Then  her  little  son  was  brought  in. 
Not  until  she  learned  that  he  had  already  been  inter- 
rogated and  that  when  his  answers  did  not  suit 
them  he  had  been  made  to  drink  brandy  and  sign 
papers  accusing  his  mother  did  her  equanimity 
give  way.  Before  such  a  court  it  mattered  little 
what  was  proved  or  disproved.  After  midnight,  on 
the  second  day,  the  verdict  was  rendered.  The  sen- 
tence was  death  and  it  was  to  be  carried  out  without 
delay.  She  heard  it  with  no  perceptible  change  of 
countenance  and  without  betraying  the  slightest 
emotion. 


1G6  jRoyal  Women 

That  last  grim  night  in  prison !  No  sleep  came 
to  her  relief.  She  lay  on  her  cot  with  wide-open 
e3^es,  awaiting  the  breaking  of  the  morn.*  At  seven 
o'clock  she  was  ready.  The  streets  were  already 
thronged  with  people.  She  shuddered  when  she  saw 
the  cart  before  the  door.  The  king  had  been  per- 
mitted to  depart  in  a  carriage.  Not  so  she.  The 
criminal's  cart,  the  seat  a  bare  plank,  was  hers. 
Every  now  and  then  they  halted  the  procession  that 
the  crowd  might  gaze  at  her.  She  saw  and  heard 
not.  She  said  the  prayers  for  the  dying  as  the 
cart  rattled  over  the  stony  streets.  Finally  she 
stood  on  the  scaffold,  and  in  that  last  hour  the 
House  of  Austria  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of 
her  daughter. 

Whatever  of  frivolity  there  had  been  in  Marie 
Antoinette's  girlhood,  it  had  long  since  given  way 
to  that  heroism  which  the  scourge  of  sorrow  always 
lashes    from    the    soul    of    womanhood.      Hardly 


•  The  painting  of  the  last  night  In  prison  Is  from  the  brush  of 
M.  Tonl  Robert  Fleury,  son  of  the  president  of  the  French 
Academy.  It  was  exhibited  with  great  success  at  the  Salon  a 
few  years  ago,  and  is  thought  to  excel  all  former  efforts  of  the 
artists  to  portray  the  last  hours  of  the  condemned.  One  can 
almost  feel  the  tenseness  of  the  queen's  nerves  as  she  lle.5  there 
looking  out  into  space,  waiting  for  the  night  to  pass.  On  the  cot 
is  her  will,  the  one  which  Robespierre  confiscated.  The  faithful 
little  maid  stands  by  the  bed.  In  the  morning,  by  the  guard's 
orders,  she  takes  off  her  kerchief  and  puts  it  on  the  queen  In 
order  that  she  may  not  appear  before  the  people  dressed  in  black. 
Behind  the  screen,  with  his  pipe  and  his  bottle,  the  guard  yawns 
and  evidently  looks  forward  to  the  end  of  his  vigil  with  relief. 
The  detail  of  the  picture  could  not  be  surpassed,  nor  the  treat- 
ment of  the  subject  as  a  whole. 


The  niylit   hct'orr  the  executi 


jNIarie    Antoinette    in    the    cart 


Marie  Antoinette  167 

beyond  childhood  when  her  duties  fell  upon  her,  she 
showed  herself  equal  to  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune 
and  superior  to  its  frowns.  She  had  borne  her 
accumulated  griefs  as  became  the  daughter  of  the 
Caesars.  She  never  forgot  that  she  was  the  wife 
of  the  son  of  sixty  kings,  the  Queen  of  France  and 
Navarre.  Where  are  they  now  who  accused  her 
of  extravagance  .-^  Let  them  laugh  and  hug  them- 
selves with  glee  while  they  read  from  the  record  of 
the  Tribunal  this  last  item  of  expense:  "A  coffin 
for  Louis'  widow  —  twenty  francs ! " 

When  the  ax  had  fallen,  the  queen's  body  was 
thrown  into  the  common  ditch  and  covered  with 
quick-lime  to  insure  its  utter  destruction.  The 
silence  was  terrifying.  She  had  perished  by  a  death 
fit  for  only  the  vilest  criminals,  and  already  France 
was  beginning  to  ask  herself  what  she  had  gained. 
Later  the  French  people  attempted  to  make  repara- 
tion. Twenty  years  went  by.  Then  the  remains  of 
the  king  and  queen  were  exhumed  and  placed  in  the 
tomb  of  the  Bourbons.  To  their  memory,  also, 
there  has  been  erected  a  little  chapel  which  they 
rightly  call  the  Chapelle  Expiatoire. 

From  out  the  depths  of  her  degradation  France 
arose  at  last.  The  Consulate  and  the  Empire  shone 
forth  for  a  while  and  vanished.  Royalty  returned 
for  a  brief  space  to  its  accustomed  haunts.  Today 
the  flag  of  the  French  Republic  flies  over  all  the 


168  Boyal  Women 

land.  The  sun  shines  bright  on  la  belle  France, 
and  the  grass  has  grown  green  over  the  graves  of 
them  that  died  for  her  in  the  days  of  her  sorrow 
and  her  shame. 


IV 

THE  EMPRESS  OF  THE  FRENCH 

Josephine 


Josephine 


IV 

THE  EMPRESS  OF  THE  FRENCH 

Josephine 

ANY  attempt  to  tell  the  story  of  Josephine 
apart  from  that  of  Napoleon  would  resem- 
ble an  effort  to  produce  Shakespeare's 
Hamlet  with  the  melancholy  Dane  left  out.  The 
Emperor  undoubtedly  dominated  the  history  of  his 
century.  So  powerful  was  his  personality  that  the 
Empress  shone  in  a  reflected  light.  Yet  the  story 
of  Josephine  is  written  for  all  time.  It  is  woven 
into  Napoleon's  brilliant  career,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  her  is  like  a  bit  of  old  tapestry,  the 
colors  of  which  grow  softer  as  the  years  go  by. 
All  the  world  knows  the  story  of  the  Corsican. 
From  the  snow-wrapped  plains  of  Russia  to  the 
delta  of  the  Nile  the  bleeding  footprints  of  the 
Grande  Armee  have  written  it  upon  the  soil.  It 
is  painted  on  the  gigantic  canvas  of  European 
history  in  colors  that  do  not  fade.  Victor  Hugo 
has  immortalized  it  with  his  pen.  The  Consul, 
the  General,  the  Emperor,  the  Conqueror,  the 
Mapmaker  of  Europe  —  this  picture  of  Napoleon 
171 


172  Boijal  Women 

wc  liavo  always  with  us.  A  brilliancy  unparalleled 
in  history  illumines  the  public  career  of  the  man 
who  shot  like  a  meteor  across  the  skies  of  Europe 
and  sank  into  the  sea  at  St.  Helena.  But  there  is 
a  side  to  this  man's  story  which  the  artist  has  not 
idealized  nor  the  poet  sung.  Not  until  we  lose  our 
interest  in  what  is  human  will  the  name  Napoleon 
cease  to  fascinate. 

In  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean  lies  the 
first  of  those  four  islands  which  played  so  strange 
a  part  in  Napoleon's  life.  Corsica  was  the  cradle 
of  the  Bonapartes.  In  the  little  town  of  Ajaccio 
his  ancestors  had  settled  early  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, and  here  on  the  ninth  of  August,  1769,  the 
future  First  Emperor  of  the  French  was  born. 

The  Bonaparte  family  was  undoubtedl}'^  noble. 
This  fact  has  never  been  questioned,  although  its 
exact  origin  has  been  the  subject  of  much 
conjecture.* 

In  order  to  understand  Napoleon  as  a  man  one 
should  know  him  as  a  boy.    In  that  far-off^  English 

•  There  Is  a  story  to  the  effect  that  the  celebrated  Man  in  the 
Iron  Mask,  that  historical  human  enifjma  which  puzzled  all 
Europe  in  the  seventeenth  century,  was  a  twin  brother  of  Louis 
Fourteenth,  who  was  hustled  out  of  sipht  and  into  prison  as 
soon  as  he  was  born,  by  the  emissaries  of  Cardinal  Mazarin. 
This  child  is  commonly  supposed  to  have  died  in  prison,  but  this, 
it  Is  claimed,  is  an  error.  He  grew  up,  married  the  daughter 
of  the  jailor,  and  had  a  son.  The  latter  was  sent  into  Corsica 
with  a  trusted  servant  wlio  had  written  orders  to  bring  up  the 
child  well,  as  he  came  of  good  stock,  expressed  in  Italian  by 
the  words  huona  parte,  the  exact  Italian  spelling  of  the  Bona- 
parte name.    The  author  of  the  story  claims  that  it  was  from 


Josephine  173 

island  where  he  spent  the  twilight  of  his  life,  with 
Memory  for  his  closest  friend,  he  seemed  often  to 
look  back,  far  beyond  the  days  of  the  Consulate  and 
the  Empire,  to  that  turbulent,  poverty-haunted 
childhood  in  Corsica,  His  father,  Charles  Maria 
Buonaparte,  was  a  man  of  no  force  of  character.  It 
was  not  from  him  that  his  son  inherited  any  of 
his  remarkable  traits.  But  in  1765  he  had  married 
a  peasant  girl,  the  little  beauty  of  the  island  — 
Laetitia  Ramolino.  He  gave  her  naught  but  his 
noble  name,  but  the  young  bride  brought  him  health 
and  beauty  and  character.  Although  only  fifteen 
years  old  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  she  was 
possessed  of  energy  and  will,  of  good  sense  and 
firmness,  and  she  reared  with  credit  the  eight  chil- 
dren who  lived  out  of  the  thirteen  she  bore. 
Madame  Bonaparte's  face  has  been  preserved  in  a 
hundred  forms  of  art  and  one  has  but  to  glance  at 
it  to  see  the  origin  of  the  Napoleonic  profile  with 
which  the  world  will  be  familiar  to  the  end  of  human 
annals. 

this  child  that  Napoleon  was  descended  and  that  he  had,  there- 
fore, as  much  right  to  occupy  the  throne  of  France  as  anyone. 
The  story  is  interesting,  but  a  little  too  wide  of  the  mark  to  be 
believed.  Napoleon  himself  always  expressed  a  lively  regret  that 
he  could  not  find  out  who  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  was,  and  to 
believe  the  story  is  to  accept  the  fact  that  it  nullifies  in  the 
most  absolute  fashion  the  legitimacy  of  the  reruuining  Bourbons. 
However  all  this  may  be,  long  years  afterward,  when  the  pro- 
posed marriage  between  Napoleon  and  Marie  Louise  was  under 
consideration,  the  Emperor  of  Austria  said,  "  I  would  not  consider 
the  proposition  for  a  moment  if  I  were  not  convinc"d  that  his 
family  is  as  old  and  as  good  as  my  own." 


174  Boy  at  Women 

Laetitia  Ramolino  was  only  nineteen  years  old 
when  her  war  god  was  born.  Her  little  brood  had 
increased  rapidly  and  they  were  at  the  door  of 
penury.  Corsica  had  been  drained  to  the  dregs  by 
Paoli's  wars.  The  young  mother,  plucky  and 
courageous  though  she  was,  had  little  time  to  give 
to  her  children's  training.  Their  father  gave  them 
none.  Once  in  his  later  years,  speaking  of  his 
mother.  Napoleon  said :  "  She  was  a  superb 
woman  —  a  woman  of  ability  and  courage.  No 
hardships  shook  her  equanimity  and  she  endured 
many,  among  them  hunger  and  cold  in  my  early 
days.  My  country  was  perishing  when  I  was  born. 
Thirty  thousand  Frenchmen  had  been  vomited  upon 
our  soil.  Cries  of  the  wounded,  sighs  of  the 
oppressed  and  tears  of  the  dying  surrounded  my 
cradle  at  my  birth.  Almost  up  until  the  day  I  was 
born  my  mother  tramped  after  the  army  which  was 
contending  against  France  in  Corsica.  The  French 
Generals  took  pity  on  her  and  told  her  to  go  home, 
promising  her  safety  and  protection.  They  kept 
their  word.  On  the  cupola  of  the  old  house  at 
Ajaccio  they  ran  up  the  French  flag.  That  is  why 
I  am  French  —  not  Italian.  I  was  born  under  the 
flag." 

This  little  lad  who,  according  to  his  own  state- 
ment, never  feared  anything  in  his  life,  spent  his 
childhood  up  to  his  ninth  year  running  wild  on  the 


Josephine  175 

beach  with  the  sailors  and  on  the  hills  with  the  shep- 
herds. He  listened  to  their  talcs  of  Corsican  strug- 
gles. He  imbibed  their  love  of  liberty.  Was  it 
any  wonder  that,  born  of  such  a  mother  and  sur- 
rounded by  such  influences  at  the  most  impression- 
able period  of  life,  he  should  love  freedom  and  hate 
with  the  fierceness  peculiar  to  the  Corsican  nature 
the  idea  of  submission.''  Take,  then,  this  character 
with  its  early  training  and  multiply  it  by  ambition. 
The  product  will  be  The  Conqueror. 

The  only  thing  worth  recording  which  Bona- 
parte, the  father,  ever  did  was  to  beg  free  educa- 
tion for  his  children.  When  Napoleon  was  nine 
years  old  he  was  sent  to  the  military  school  at 
Brienne.  He  was  very  unhappy  here.  The  school 
was  composed  of  the  sons  of  French  noblemen,  and 
he  felt  intensely  the  fact  that  he  was  a  charity 
pupil.  The  French  lads  made  fun  of  him  and  he 
made  few  friends  —  only  one,  in  fact,  to  whom  he 
clung  in  after  life.  This  was  Bourienne,  who  was 
his  secretary  under  the  Empire.  It  is  to  Bourienne 
that  we  are  indebted  for  any  authentic  knowledge 
of  this  period  of  Napoleon's  life.  In  his  Memoires 
he  says :  "  Nobody  understood  Bonaparte  at  this 
time.  He  was  a  shy,  proud  little  fellow,  and  our 
friendship  began  when  he  said  to  me  one  day,  *  I 
like  you,  Bourienne.  You  never  laugh  at  me.'  His 
teachers  said  that  he  was  morose  and  sullen,  but 


176  Royal  Women 

they  were  not  far-sighted  enough  to  see  that  it  was 
sensitiveness,  not  arrogance,  which  drove  him  to 
shun  his  companions.  I  have  ahvays  thought  that 
there  was  in  those  days  a  proud,  passionate  Httle 
heart  under  that  sullen  exterior,  and  that  it  must 
have  ached  for  love  and  recognition." 

Madame  Junot,  who  also  had  known  Napoleon  in 
his  youth,  says  in  her  Memoires:  "  As  a  child  Bona- 
parte was  anything  but  prepossessing.  His  head 
appeared  too  large  for  his  body  —  a  fault  common 
to  the  Bonaparte  children.  His  bearing  was  morose, 
almost  sullen.  In  after  j^ears  the  peculiar  charm 
of  his  countenance  lay  in  the  expression  of  his 
eyes  and  his  captivating  smile.  But  that  forehead 
ivhich  seemed  formed  to  bear  the  crowns  of  the  whole 
world;  those  hands  of  which  the  most  coquettish 
woman  might  have  been  vain  and  whose  white  skin 
covered  muscles  of  steel ;  in  short,  of  all  that  per- 
sonal beauty  which  so  distinguished  Napoleon  as  a 
young  man,  no  trace  was  discernible  in  the  boy. 
Of  all  the  children  of  Madame  Bonaparte,  the  Em- 
peror was  the  one  from  whom  the  future  greatness 
was  least  to  be  prognosticated." 

From  Brienne  Napoleon  went  to  the  military 
school  at  Paris.  Here  life  were  even  more  hateful 
than  before.  The  rich  lads  spent  freely.  The 
poor  ran  greatly  in  debt.  Bonaparte  would  do 
neither.     Nor  would  he  borrow.     But  it  was  hard 


Josephine  177 

not  to  be  able  to  join  in  the  frolics  of  his  compan- 
ions or  to  contribute  toward  the  lunches  and  gifts 
they  gave  to  their  teachers  and  friends.  His  sister 
Eliza  had  been  placed  in  Madame  de  Maintenon's 
school  at  St.  Cjr.  He  went  one  day  to  see  her  and 
found  her  weeping  over  the  same  thing  which  dis- 
tressed him.  He  tried  in  his  rough  way  to  com- 
fort her,  but  said  positively :  "  My  mother  has 
already  too  many  expenses.  I  have  no  business  to 
increase  them  nor  must  you." 

The  school  days  came  to  an  end  at  last. 
Napoleon  received  his  commission  in  the  French 
army  with  a  salary  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-four 
dollars  a  year!  He  obtained  leave  of  absence  and 
went  to  Corsica,  where  his  father  had  recently  died. 
His  leave  extended  many  months,  and  while  there 
he  took  part  in  the  revolutionary  uprising  of  1789. 

It  was  while  Napoleon  was  a  little  lad  at  Brienne 
that  he  seems  to  have  realized  that  the  future  of 
his  mother  and  sisters  would  depend  on  him,  and 
even  at  that  early  age  he  had  shown  an  interest, 
had  felt  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and  had  displayed 
good  judgment  remarkable  in  one  so  young.  While 
on  leave  in  Corsica  he  made  strenuous  efforts  to 
better  their  circumstances.  He  reestablished  the 
salt  works.  He  saw  to  it  that  the  mulberry  planta- 
tion was  replanted.  He  secured  for  Lucien  a 
scholarship  at  Aix  and  for  Louis  a  place  at  UEcole 


178  Hoi/al  Women 

M'lUtaire  in  Paris.  He  became  so  absorbed  in  the 
affairs  of  his  iamWy  that  he  quite  forgot  his  own. 
He  overstayed  his  leave.  When  he  got  back  to 
Paris  he  found  himself  dismissed  from  the  service, 
and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he 
succeeded  in  getting  himself  reinstated.  He  rose 
rapidly  in  the  Army  and  during  those  last  dreadful 
days  of  royalty  in  France  was  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  forces  stationed  to  protect  the  Tuileries  dur- 
ing the  sitting  of  the  Convention.  This  he  man- 
aged with  consummate  skill  and  was  made  General 
of  the  Army  of  the  Interior. 

Mark  well  the  first  use  Napoleon  made  of  power! 
He  sent  sixty  thousand  francs  to  his  mother,  beauti- 
ful dresses  to  his  sisters.  He  obtained  for  Joseph 
a  Consulship.  He  made  Louis  a  lieutenant  and 
Lucien  Commissioner  of  War.  The  man  whose 
thoughts  turn  the  first  time  Fortune  smiles  upon 
him  to  his  mother  and  sisters  must  have  at  least  one 
spot  in  his  heart  which  selfishness  and  ambition  can 
never  touch. 

Bonaparte  began  now  to  see  something  of  society. 
His  official  position  gave  him  entree  to  any  salon  in 
Paris  where  he  might  wish  to  go.  Paris  was  just 
recovering  from  the  recollection  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  Robespierre  was  dead.  The  guillotine  had 
received  its  last  victims.     The  prison  doors  were 


Josephine  179 

thrown  open  to  those  who  remained,  and  among 
these  latter  was  Josephine. 

Josephine  was  a  Creole.*  She  was  the  daughter 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Pagerie,  and  it  was  on  the 
second  of  the  four  islands  connected  with  Napo- 
leon's life  that  she  was  born.  The  little  town  of 
St.  Pierre,  Martinique,  was  her  birthplace.  Who 
can  forget  the  tragic  fate  of  this  pretty  spot.^* 
No  disaster  was  ever  more  complete  than  that  which 
destroyed  it.  No  living  soul  of  its  thousands 
remained  to  tell  the  tale.  The  low,  rambling,  one- 
story  house  with  its  tall  chimney,  which  was  the 
home  of  Josephine's  childhood,  had  withstood  the 
tropical  storms  and  the  earthquakes  for  many 
years,  but  was  not  proof  against  the  fiery  blast  of 
Mt.  Pelee.     Not  a  stick  nor  a  stone  remains. 

Josephine's  girlhood  was  uneventful  save  for 
one  thing.      One  day,  with  three  or  four  of  her 


*A  mistaken  impression  seems  to  exist  about  this  word  Creole. 
For  some  reason,  many  have  accepted  as  its  meaning  a  mixture 
of  foreign  with  negro  blood.  This  is  entirely  wrong.  A  Creole 
is  anyone  born  of  European  parentage  in  the  West  Indies,  or  in 
the  French  or  Spanish  provinces  elsewhere.  Perhaps  the  fact 
that  in  our  country  these  provinces  lay  along  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
made  Americans  especially  accept  the  erroneous  meaning.  Far 
from  being  a  term  of  contempt,  it  implies  a  certain  excellence 
of  origin,  and  means  that  the  person  so  descended  has  never 
mixed  with  any  other  race.  She  was  of  purely  French  extrac- 
tion, this  little  Creole  maid  whose  name  was  destined  to  be  writ 
in  history,  not  only  on  account  of  her  many  qualities,  not  alone 
because  of  her  glory  as  Empress  of  the  French,  but  also  because 
of  her  sorrows  and  suffering  when  the  days  of  her  splendor  were 
past. 


180  Royal  Women 

companions,  she  ran  away  fi'om  school,  and  while 
walking  through  the  gardens  thej^  came  upon  an 
old  negress  who  wished  to  tell  their  fortunes. 
Josephine  was  the  last  to  give  her  hand,  and  the 
negress  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  it  than  she  threw 
herself  at  the  young  girl's  feet  and  said,  "  Made- 
moiselle, you  will  be  greater  than  a  queen ! " 
Josephine  laughed  at  the  time,  but  she  never  forgot 
the  woman's  prophecy,  which  she  lived  to  see 
fulfilled. 

When  she  was  seventeen  years  old,  Josephine 
was  married  to  the  Viscount  Alexandre  Beau- 
harnais.  It  is  said  that  when  he  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife  she  laughed  and  said :  "  How  can  I  ?  I  am 
going  to  be  greater  than  a  queen ! "  Nevertheless 
the  marriage  took  place  and  two  children  were 
born  to  them.  The  older  was  a  son,  Eugene,  who 
grew  to  be  a  fine  young  fellow.  The  daughter 
was  Hortense,  afterward  Queen  of  Holland.  Napo- 
leon adopted  these  children  and  was  very  fond  of 
them,  and  after  that  disastrous  Russian  campaign, 
he  declared  that  Eugene  was  the  only  man  on  his 
staff  who  had  not  committed  a  terrible  blunder  of 
some  kind  during  the  war. 

The  Bcauharnais  lived  quietly  in  Paris  till  those 
stormy  days  which  follov.ed  the  downfall  of  royalty. 
Then,  on  account  of  their  lo3'alty  to  tlie  king,  they 
were  thrown  into  prison  and  the  husband  was  one 


Josepliine  in  youth 


Josephine  181 

of  the  very  last  victims  of  the  Reign  of  Terror. 
Only  four  clays  before  the  fall  of  Robespierre, 
Alexander  Beauharnais  met  his  death  at  the  guil- 
lotine. Josephine,  suffering  all  the  tortures  of 
which  a  sensitive  nature  is  capable,  separated  from 
her  children,  awaited  a  similar  fate  in  the  women's 
wing  of  the  prison.  So  near  execution  was  she  that 
the  jailor  came  and  carried  away  her  bed,  telling 
her  roughly  that  "  she  would  n't  need  it  after 
tomorrow."  But  the  unexpected  often  happens, 
and  in  this  case  it  did.  When  the  morrow  came, 
she  was  free  —  free  to  return  to  her  children,  but  a 
widow,  without  means. 

Meanwhile  j^oung  Bonaparte  was  becoming  an 
important  figure  in  Paris.  The  later  days  of  the 
French  Revolution  were  the  days  of  young  men. 
He  was  no  j^ounger  than  his  associates,  but  he  was 
a  general  in  the  French  army  at  twenty-six. 

One  day  a  3'oung  lad  presented  himself  and 
begged  of  General  Bonaparte  the  return  of  his 
father's  sword  which  had  been  taken  from  him  at 
the  time  of  his  imprisonment.  The  boy's  request 
was  readily  granted.  The  General  himself  placed 
the  sword  in  his  hands,  when,  much  to  his  surprise, 
the  little  fellow  burst  into  tears  and  kissed  it. 
Bonaparte  was  touched  at  his  emotion,  and  made 
inquiry  as  to  his  family  and  their  circumstances. 
The  next  day  the  boy's  mother  called  upon  him  to 


182  Boijal  Women 

express  her  thanks  for  tlie  kindly  reception  he  had 
given  her  son,  and  on  this  occasion  Napoleon 
caught  his  first  glimpse  of  her  who,  according  to 
his  own  statement,  was,  "  of  all  the  women  I  have 
ever  known,  the  one  who  charmed  me  most  and 
whom  I  most  fondly  loved."  How  can  anj'one 
who  has  read  the  Emperor's  words  spoken  during 
his  last  unhappy  days  persuade  himself  that  he 
ever  felt  for  another  woman  the  affection,  the 
tenderness  which,  undoubtedly,  he  held  for  Jose- 
phine? One  of  his  companions  Avho  shared  his 
exile  says :  "  He  rarely  spoke  of  her,  but  one  day, 
when  the  spirit  of  reminiscence  was  strong  within 
him,  he  said,  'Dear  Josephine!  She  was  the  most 
charming  woman  I  ever  knew.  She  was  absolute 
mistress  of  the  art  of  pleasing  —  a  trait  which  so 
few  women  possess.  She  was  always  ready  when  I 
wanted  her.  She  never  annoyed  me  in  her  life  — 
never  besought  of  me  favors  for  her  children.  It 
was  her  sole  ambition  to  be  my  good  angel  —  and 
she  was.  I  gained  the  kingdoms,  but  Josephine 
gained  me  the  hearts.  She  would  have  shared  my 
exile  gladly.'"  Is  it  possible  that  the  Emperor, 
when  he  spoke  these  words,  could  forget  that  the 
days  with  Josephine  were  the  days  of  his  greatest 
glory,  or  that  from  the  day  he  sent  her  from  him 
his  star  began  to  wane? 

Bonaparte  was  not  the  man  to  let  the  woman 


JosepJtine  183 

who  had  so  attracted  him  escape.  He  sought  her 
out,  pursued  her  relentlessly,  wooed  her  madly. 
Josephine  had  spent  her  life  in  the  society  and 
under  the  protection  of  royalty.  She  could  not 
determine  whether  she  ought  to  wed  this  rampant 
young  republican  or  not.  Indeed,  she  found  it 
quite  impossible  at  this  time  to  return  the  fier^; 
affection  which  he  lavished  upon  her.  But  Bona- 
parte persisted  and  the  marriage  took  place.  Three 
days  later  he  shouted  through  the  door  to  her  that 
"  he  was  off  to  Italy.  Love  would  have  to  wait  till 
the  campaign  was  over."  Josephine  remained  in 
Paris,  unable  to  determine  whether  she  had  married 
a  hero  or  lunatic.  It  was  with  Napoleon  as  it  is 
with  many  others.  What  was  called  genius  in  his 
after  years  was  in  his  youth  only  eccentricity. 

The  student  of  Napoleonana  finds  in  the  works  of 
various  authors  many  expressions  of  curiosity  as  to 
the  reasons  for  Napoleon's  infatuation  for  Jose- 
phine. "  The  beautiful  Creole  was  older  than  he," 
they  argue.  "  She  was  past  the  freshness  of  her 
youth."  True.  But  why  waste  time  and  space 
trying  to  explain  a  thing  so  incapable  of  explana- 
tion or  analysis  as  affection?  One  loves  because  he 
loves.    It  is  idle  to  seek  the  reason. 

Long,  wakeful  nights  on  battlefields  are  con- 
ducive to  thoughts  of  home.  Napoleon  sent  back 
to  his  w  ife  from  the  army  the  most  charming  love 


184  Royal  Women 

letters.  "  My  only  Josephine,"  he  wrote,  "  away 
from  you  there  is  no  life,  no  happiness.  I  stand 
alone  in  a  world  which  is  a  desert.  When  I  am 
worn  out  with  the  tumult  of  events  or  fear  the 
issue  —  if  men  disgust  me  and  I  am  ready  to  curse 
life,  I  place  my  hand  on  my  heart  where  your 
image  lies,  and  everything  smiles."  Again  he 
wrote :  "  To  live  for  Josephine !  That  is  the  story 
of  mj^  life.  How  long  it  will  be  before  you  will 
read  these  words  which  so  feebly  express  the  emo- 
tions of  the  heart  over  which  you  reign ! "  And 
once  more :  "  The  day  when  I  shall  have  lost  j^our 
love  will  be  the  day  when  the  earth  has  lost  its 
flowers  and  the  birds  have  forgotten  their  songs. 
Ah,  Josephine,  let  us  at  least  be  able  to  say  when 
we  die,  '  so  many  days  we  were  happy.' " 

The  astounding  victories  of  the  French  in  Italy 
made  Bonaparte  an  idol  in  Paris.  Josephine's 
heart  warmed  toward  the  man  whose  fortunes  she 
had  elected  to  share,  and  from  that  day  forth  she 
never  forsook  him.  Many  are  the  allusions  to  the 
infidclit}'  of  Josephine  —  more  to  the  immorality 
of  Napoleon;  but  the  motive  for  the  slanders 
against  the  Empress  was  too  apparent  to  give  them 
weight.  They  emanated  from  the  Emperor's  sis- 
ters, who  hated  and  envied  her,  and  they  are  not 
substantiated  by  fact  or  proof.     As  for  Napoleon 


Joseiihine  1 8.5 

himself  —  who  shall  judge  him?  Let  him  that  is 
without  sin  cast  the  first  stone!  Was  the  Emperor 
the  only  man  in  history  who,  after  months  and 
sometimes  years  of  absence  from  home,  occasionally 
erred?  What  volumes  of  stuff  have  been  written 
on  this  subject!  "Man's  love  is  of  his  life  a  thing 
apart,"  sang  Lord  Bj'ron  —  that  misguided  under- 
stander  of  human  nature.  American  manhood  has 
become  with  us  an  ideal.  May  we  not  be  charitable 
to  the  French  soldier  of  a  century  ago?  These 
wanderings  on  Napoleon's  part  were  short-lived, 
apparently  but  the  whim  of  the  moment.  They 
were  forgotten  instantly  when  the  army  turned  its 
face  towards  Paris,  and  Josephine  always  granted 
him  absolution. 

After  the  overthrow  of  the  Directory  the  solid 
rebuilding  of  the  Constitution  became  necessary, 
and  Bonaparte  was  made  First  Consul.  At  no 
period  of  his  life  did  he  show  such  splendid  ability 
as  during  the  time  he  served  as  First  Consul,  at  no 
time  was  his  greatness  so  apparent.  He  undertook 
the  reconstruction  with  courage  and  determination. 
The  Bank  of  France  dates  from  this  time.  He 
insisted  on  the  most  rigid  governmental  economy. 
He  reorganized  the  tax  system,  the  principal  fea- 
ture of  which  was  that  extra  taxes  should  not  be 
levied  upon  the  poor.     He  encouraged  agriculture 


186  liojjal  Women 

and  the  industries,  and  Paris  began  to  take  on  new 
life.  Then  followed  the  campaign  in  Egj'pt,  and 
Bonaparte  was  made  First  Consul  for  life.* 

Josephine  was  of  inestimable  value  to  Napoleon 
at  this  time.  The  very  things  which  would  have 
been  difficult  for  a  man  of  his  temperament  to 
manage  came  easih^  and  naturally  to  her.  Later, 
when  the  Consulate  became  the  Empire,  Josephine 
stepped  into  her  place  with  tact  and  grace.  Appar- 
ently without  effort,  she  rivaled  in  social  conquests 
the  victory  of  her  husband  in  the  field.  High-born 
ladies  sought  her  favor,  and  nobles  bowed  low  to 
win  her  support. 

There  is  a  general  impression  that  Josephine 
was  shallow,  if  not  ignorant.  This  is  a  mistake. 
When  she  found  herself  in  so  exalted  a  position 
she  engaged  a  man  to  whom  the  title  Librarian  of 
the  Court  was  given,  whose  sole  duty  it  was  to  keep 

•  There  arc  many  charming  pictures  of  Bonaparte  as  First 
Consul.  He  was  very  difBcult  to  paint  because  he  would  not 
sit  for  the  artist.  When  David  went,  at  Bonaparte's  own 
request,  after  the  battle  of  Marengo,  to  make  his  now  famous 
portrait,  ho  asked  the  First  Consul  when  he  would  pose  for 
liim.  "  Pose  !  "  thundered  Bonaparte.  "  Do  you  suppose  the 
good  men  of  antiquity  posed  for  their  portraits?" 

"But  I  am  painting  you  for  your  time,  for  your  countrymen. 
Thpy  will  wish  the  picture  to  be  like  you." 

"Well,"  said  the  Consul,  "it  is  not  perfection  of  feature,  nor 
yet  a  pimple  of  the  nose  whicli  makes  resemblance.  Who  cares 
whether  the  pictures  of  great  men  look  like  them  or  not?  It  is 
enough  if  their  genius  shines  from  the  picture." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  Citizen  Consul."  said  the  artist, 
"but  T  have  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before."  David 
breakfasted  dally  with  Bonaparte  thereafter  till  the  portrait  was 
finished.  It  was  the  only  way  in  which  he  was  able  to  study 
his  fncc. 


Josephine  as  Empress 


Josephine  187 

her  informed  on  all  questions  concerning  the  politics 
of  France.  As  a  result,  she  was  always  ready  to 
discuss  intelligently  anything  which  came  up,  and 
was  well  posted  on  all  matters  which  concerned  the 
court.* 

There  is  a  legend  that  Charlemagne  gave  orders 
to  his  servant  that  every  morning  when  he  awakened 
him  he  should  remind  him  that  he  was  mortal !  Well 
would  it  have  been  for  Napoleon  had  someone  per- 
formed a  similar  act  for  him  when  first  he  began  to 
dream  of  the  Empire.  His  days  as  First  Consul 
were  undoubtedly  his  greatest  days.  France  was 
healthy  then.  A  splendid  nationalism  existed,  but 
it  disappeared  under  the  glittering  pomp  in  which 
the  Empire  was  enveloped.  One  cannot  but  ponder 
on  the  things  which  would  not  have  happened  had 
Bonaparte  died  at  the  end  of  his  career  as  First 
Consul.  But  like  many  another  man  on  whom 
fickle  fortune  has  smiled,  he  lived  a  few  years  too 
long.     When  he  looked  back  on  his  own  life  as 

•  Many  people  who  stood  in  awe  of  the  Emperor  sought  his 
favor  by  first  approaching  Josephine.  There  is  an  amusing 
story  concerning  one  of  these  petitioners.  He  spoke  to  the 
Empress  about  his  difficulties  and  she  told  him  to  give  her  his 
petition  in  writing.  This  the  young  man  thought  he  did,  but 
imagine  his  consternation  when  he  returned  home  to  find  that  he 
had  presented  her  with  his  tailor's  hill!  Josephine,  of  course, 
v/as  deluged  witli  these  petitions  and  often  they  did  not  reach 
the  Etaiperor  for  several  days.  In  her  effort  to  l>e  diplomatic, 
she  occasionally  got  into  hot  water.  In  the  case  mentioned  when 
the  young  man  presented  himself  to  make  his  most  abject  apolo- 
gies she  greeted  him  with  a  charming  smile,  assured  him  that 
she  and  Napoleon  had  read  over  his  petition  together,  and  that 
the  success  of  the  affair  had  made  her  very  happy ! 


188  lioijal  Women 

Emperor  lie  was  filled  with  haunting  memories  of 
things  which  would  never  have  been  had  he  put 
from  him  the  glittering  bauble  which  so  allured  him. 
During  his  last  days  these  passed  before  him  in  dim 
review  —  the  murder  of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  the 
war  with  Spain,  the  terrible  campaign  in  Russia, 
the  exile  to  Elba,  the  quarrel  with  the  Holy  Father. 
He  thought  of  the  seas  of  blood  which  had  been 
sucked  from  wounded  France,  of  the  flight  in 
Austrian  uniform,  of  the  foreigners  encamped  in 
Paris  —  of  Waterloo,  of  St.  Helena! 

After  the  Empire  was  established,  the  other 
members  of  the  Bonaparte  family  were  raised  to 
the  imperial  rank  solel}^  on  condition  that  they 
would  act  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  Emperor's 
plans.  They  must  marry  so  as  to  cement  the  ties 
of  the  kingdom.  They  must  arrange  their  time, 
form  their  friendships  as  it  best  suited  the  interests 
of  the  Emperor.  They  must  forget  all  the  ties  of 
kindred  and  conduct  themselves  as  kings  and  queens, 
to  be  criticized  with  absolute  frankness  if  the 
Emperor  saw  fit. 

The  oldest  of  the  Bonaparte  daughters  was 
Eliza.  She  was  made  Princess  of  Lucques  and 
Piombino.  Napoleon  was  very  fond  of  this  sister 
because  she  resembled  in  every  way  the  Corsican 
mother,  but  he  quarreled  with  her  about  her  mar- 
riage to  Count  Bacciocci,  and  refused  to  stand  as 


Josephine  189 

godfather  to  any  of  her  children.  Jerome  was 
made  King  of  WestphaHa  after  he  had  yielded  to 
Napoleon's  demands  and  set  aside  the  beautiful 
American  woman  he  had  married.* 

Pauline  was  the  beauty  of  the  family.  In  fact, 
she  was  considered  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her 
day.  She  was  married  first  to  General  Leclerc, 
and  after  hir  death  to  Prince  Camillo  Borghese,  the 
richest  nobleman  in  Italy.  Pauline  was  devoted  to 
Napoleon.  She  followed  him  to  Elba  and  assisted 
him  to  escape.  She  was  preparing  to  join  him  at 
St.  Helena,  but  the  Emperor  died  before  she  could 
carry  out  her  plans,  and  after  his  death  she  took  no 
further  interest  in  mankind. 

Joseph  was  the  oldest  of  the  Bonaparte  sons, 
although  Napoleon  was  always  looked  upon  as  the 
head  of  the  family.  The  relations  between  these 
two  were  amicable  until  Joseph  protested  against 
the  sale  of  Louisiana.  Then  they  quarreled.  The 
one  member  of  the  family  whom  the  Emperor  could 
not  manage  was  Lucien.  He  steadfastly  refused  to 
set  aside  the  wife  he  had  wed,  and  all  the  threats 
and  persuasions  of  the  Emperor  availed  him  naught. 
The  remaining  brother  was  Louis.  He  was  mar- 
ried to  Hortense  de  Beauharnais,  Josephine's  only 
daughter.     The   story   of   these   young   people   is 

*  It  was  from  this  marriage  that  Charles  J.  Bonaparte,  for- 
mei'ly  Secretary  of  the  U.  S.  navy,  was  descended.  Jerome  Bona- 
parte was  his  grandfather. 


190  Royal  Women 

sorrowful  in  the  extreme.  Uttei-ly  uncongenial  by 
nature,  taste,  and  disposition,  absolutely  without 
affection  for  each  other,  each  in  love  with  someone 
else,  they  had  yielded  to  the  entreaty  of  Napoleon 
and  Josephine  and  consented  to  the  marriage.  The 
Emperor  urged  it  because  of  a  genuine  affection 
for  both  and  a  desire  to  make  them  king  and  queen 
of  Holland.  The  Empress  urged  it  because  she 
foresaw  that  the  child  of  her  own  daughter  and 
Napoleon's  favorite  brother  would  be  a  most  impor- 
tant personage  so  far  as  the  succession  was  con- 
cerned. The  marriage  was  most  unhappy.  Louis, 
who  in  his  youth  was  unusually  sweet-tempered  and 
charming,  under  adverse  circumstances  became  not 
onl}'^  disagreeable  and  contemptible,  but  tyrannical 
and  cruel.  Napoleon  had  resolved  to  make  the  son 
of  Louis  and  Hortense  his  heir;  but  the  little 
prince  in  whom  such  hopes  were  centered  died  sud- 
denly one  night  of  croup,  and  sorrow  began  to 
wrap  its  shadows  about  the  childless  Josephine. 

The  men  of  the  Bonaparte  family  were  not  so 
bad,  but  the  Emperor's  sisters  can  never  be  any- 
thing but  contemptible  in  history  because  of  their 
everlasting  quarrels  and  bickerings  among  them- 
selves.*   They  could  not  bear  to  witness  the  honors 

♦  There  are  many  humorous  anecdotes  related  of  Napoleon's 
frequent  exasperation  with  his  sisters  in  tliis  respect.  On  oui- 
occasion  Kliza.  who,  thoup;h  older  than  Caroline,  was  lower  in 
rank.  ask<'fl  porniission  of  the  Kmpcror  to  absent  herself  from 
the  state  dinner  which  was  to  be  followed  by  an  evening  at  the 


Josepliine  191 

which  their  brother  heaped  upon  Josephine.  They 
plotted  and  planned  against  her.  They  spied  upon 
her.  They  misconstrued  her  slightest  actions  and 
carried  exaggerated  reports  to  the  Emperor.  Their 
daily  lives  were  one  continuous  attempt  to  poison 
his  mind  against  her.  Josephine  never  made  the 
slightest  attempt  to  conciliate  them,  and  when  the 
Empire  became  an  assured  thing  and  tlie  time 
approached  for  the  coronation,  the  Bonapartes, 
both  male  and  female,  brought  all  the  pressure 
they  could  summon  to  bear  upon  Napoleon  in  the 
attempt  to  prevent  the  coronation  of  Josephine. 
But  the  Emperor  was  adamant.  No  argument  they 
could  use  moved  him.  Finally  one  day  his  patience 
slipped  the  tether  and  he  roughly  ordered  them  all 
to  be  silent.  He  went  so  far  as  to  say  sneeringly 
to  one  of  his  sisters,  "  One  would  think  that  we  had 
inherited  this  kingdom  from  the  late  king,  our 
father!  " 

Shortly  after  their  marriage.  Napoleon  pur- 
chased for  Josephine  a  little  estate  not  far  from 
Paris,  called  Malmaison.     Here  as  the  wife  of  the 

opera.  Napoleon  inquired  her  reason.  She  hesitated  a  little,  and 
Caroline  (who  was  Queen  of  Naples)  broke  forth:  "Oh,  I  can 
tell  you  why,  Your  Majesty.  She  does  not  choose  to  enter  the 
imperial  dining-room  after  me.  It  does  not  suit  her  Highness  to 
sit  in  the  royal  box  behind  vie!  etc.,  etc."  One  can  imagine  the 
result.  In  shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  the  two  sisters 
were  quarrelling  furiously  and  history  hath  it  that  the  Emperor 
seized  the  fire  tongs  and  shovel  and  chased  the  two  irate  prin- 
cesses down  the  long  corridor  to  their  apartments,  banging  the 
door  behind  them  in  true  Corsican  style. 


192  Royal  Women 

First  Consul  she  spent  her  happiest  days.  Mal- 
maison  was  to  Josephine  what  Petit  Trianon  was 
to  Marie  Antoinette.  Here  they  laid  aside  their 
dignity  and  courtly  demeanor  and  laughed  and 
sang  like  happ}'  children.  Here  in  the  summer  days 
they  played  "  prisoner's  base  "  and  took  long  walks 
and  drives  through  the  park.  There  was  one  little 
avenue,  now  called  the  Emperor's  Walk,  where 
Napoleon,  when  he  was  wearied  of  .  the  gaiety, 
wandered  up  and  down,  a  solitary  dreamer.  Who 
can  say  what  thoughts  were  his ! 

As  the  time  approached  for  the  coronation, 
Josephine  awoke  to  a  realization  of  the  strength 
of  the  league  which  the  Bonapartes  had  formed 
against  her.  She  became  apprehensive,  but  with 
her  usual  tact  and  grace  she  managed  the  situation 
in  such  manner  as  to  combat  all  their  combined 
efforts.  Her  pleasure  became  a  triumph  when  the 
Emperor  sent  for  her  one  da}^,  consulted  her  about 
the  ceremony,  and  discussed  the  details  of  her 
coronation  robe.  She  knew  they  had  not  yet  made 
any  impression  upon  him. 

The  day  of  the  coronation  came  at  last.  In  her 
Memoires  INIadame  Junot  says  of  the  event :  "  Who 
that  saw  Notre  Dame  on  that  memorable  day  can 
ever  forget  it !  I  liavc  witnessed  in  that  venerable  pile 
the  celebration  of  sumptuous  and  solemn  festivals, 
but  never  anything  even  approximating  the  splen- 


Josepliine  193 

dor  of  the  coronation  of  Napoleon.  The  vaulted 
roofs  reechoed  the  chanting  of  the  priests.  The 
waving  plumes  which  adorned  the  hats  of  the  sena- 
tors and  councillors,  the  splendid  uniforms  of  the 
military,  the  clergy  in  all  their  ecclesiastical  pomp, 
the  multitude  of  beautiful  women  arrayed  with  that 
grace  and  elegance  which  is  seen  only  in  Paris  — 
perhaps  the  picture  has  been  equalled,  but  surely 
never  excelled ! " 

When  Napoleon  arrived  at  the  Cathedral  he 
ascended  the  throne  which  had  been  erected  for 
him  in  front  of  the  altar.  Josephine  took  her 
place  by  his  side.  The  ceremony  was  long  and 
seemed  to  weary  him.  Finally,  hov/ever,  Pope 
Pius  Seventh,  who  by  a  masterpiece  of  diplomacy 
on  Napoleon's  part  had  been  induced  to  cross  the 
Alps  to  perform  the  ceremony,  took  the  crown 
from  the  altar,  and  when  he  was  about  to  place  it 
on  Napoleon's  head  the  latter  seized  it  and  placed 
it  there  himself.  "At  that  moment,"  said  Madame 
Junot,  "  he  was  really  handsome.  His  countenance 
was  illumined  with  an  expression  which  no  words 
can  describe." 

When  the  time  came  for  Josephine  to  take  part 
in  this  great  drama  she  descended  from  the  throne 
and  advanced  toward  the  altar  where  the  newly- 
crowned  Emperor  awaited  her.  She  was  the  per- 
sonification of  elegance  and  majesty  as  she  walked 


194  Royal  Women 

with  her  peculiar  grace  toward  him,  her  long  train 
borne  by  the  imperial  princesses.  There  was  a  battle 
royal  between  Napoleon  and  his  sisters  over  the 
carrying  of  Josephine's  train,  but  at  last  they 
yielded  to  the  inevitable  and  rose  to  the  occasion. 
Napoleon's  countenance  reflected  his  satisfaction  as 
he  saw  Josephine  approaching  him.  She  knelt  at 
the  altar  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  both 
seemed  to  experience  one  of  those  fleeting  moments 
of  pure  happiness  which  are  unique  in  a  lifetime. 

The  Emperor  performed  with  grace  all  that  the 
ceremony  required,  but  his  manner  of  crowning 
Josephine  was  remarkable.*  He  took  the  little 
crown  in  his  hands,  placed  it  first  on  his  own  head, 
and  then  transferred  it  to  hers.  He  took  great 
pains  to  arrange  it  to  fit  her  head,  lifting  it  off 
once  or  twice  in  almost  playful  manner,  and  putting 
it  on  again,  as  if  to  promise  her  she  should  wear  it 
lightly 

One  of  the  ladies-in-waiting  at  the  court  of 
Josephine  says  of  her:  "The  Empress  was  not 
beautiful  of  feature.  These  were  irregular,  and  her 
teeth  were  neither  white  nor  straiglit.  But  she  had 
that  suppleness  of  limb  which  is  characteristic  of 

•  The  painting  of  the  Coronation  of  .Tosephine  by  David  is 
most  intorostlng.  Between  the  Emperor  nnd  the  altar  the 
Holy  Father,  Pope  Pius  VII,  is  seated  and  near  him  Cardinal 
Fesch,  Napoleon's  uncle.  Behind  the  Emperor  are  Napoleon's 
sisters  and  to  the  left  his  brothers.  From  the  little  balcony 
above,  the  Corsican  mother  looks  down  upon  the  splendor  of  the 
Bcene.     It  took  David  more  than  two  years  to  paint  this  picture. 


o 


Josephine  195 

those  born  in  southern  chmes,  a  regal  carriage,  and 
a  voice  that  was  hke  a  caress.  Many  a  time  have 
I  seen  the  Emperor  burst  into  her  apartments, 
blazing  with  wrath  because  something  had  gone 
wrong  in  his  Cabinet,  which  was  stilled  instantly 
when  she  spoke  to  him !  Many  a  time  have  I  fur- 
tively watched  his  face  as  he  looked  at  her  walking 
through  the  grounds  or  the  long  corridors  of  the 
palace!  He  who  so  loved  beauty  in  all  things  had 
naught  to  complain  of  in  his  wife.  Those  who 
have  seen  her  walk  can  never  forget  her." 

The  few  years  of  Josephine's  life  as  Empress 
passed  quickly,  and  then  the  blow  fell  which  she 
so  long  had  feared  and  which  she  had  made  such 
efforts  to  avert.  To  Napoleon's  credit  be  it  said 
that  he  had  steadfastly  refused  to  listen  to  the 
suggestions  of  those  who  wished  the  Empress  ill, 
till  the  death  of  the  little  son  of  Louis  and  Hor- 
tense,  whom  he  had  wished  to  make  his  heir.  Then 
the  question  of  the  succession  stared  him  sternly 
in  the  face,  and  the  idea  of  the  divorce  took  definite 
form  in  his  mind  for  the  first  time. 

That  the  Emperor's  thoughts  were  weighty 
when  he  considered  this  step,  none  can  doubt.  If 
the  Napoleonic  institutions  were  to  endure,  stability 
of  government  was  vitally  necessary.  These  insti- 
tutions had  been  in  operation  so  short  a  time  that 
he  feared  for  them  in  case  of  his  death.    If  he  died 


196  Royal  Women 

without  issue,  would  not  fresh  revolutions  break 
out?  Would  not  the  splendid  organization  he  had 
created  be  destroyed?  Might  not  his  Empire 
topple  and  fall  as  Alexander's  did?  Many  there 
are  who  look  upon  this  divorce  as  an  exposition  of 
gigantic  egotism.  It  was  not  so.  Josephine  herself 
had  come  to  see  the  advisability  of  such  a  step, 
although  she  hoped  continually  that  it  might  not 
become  a  necessity. 

One  evening  about  two  weeks  before  the  public 
announcement  the  Emperor  and  Empress  dined 
alone.  Josephine  felt  that  the  blow  was  about  to 
fall.  She  ate  nothing,  and  tears  she  could  not 
repress  ran  down  her  cheeks.  The  Emperor  sat 
moodily  tapping  the  side  of  his  glass  with  a  spoon. 
When  dinner  was  over  Josephine  retired  to  her 
apartments,  whither  the  Emperor  shortly  followed 
her.  Here  he  made  known  to  her,  as  gently  as  he 
might,  his  decision  to  divorce  her.  He  took  her 
hands  in  his  own  and  said :  "  Josephine,  you  know 
very  well  all  that  you  are  and  have  always  been 
to  me.  But  I  have  reached  a  place  where  my 
dearest  affections  must  give  way  to  the  interests  of 
France." 

"  Say  no  more,"  said  the  Empress,  "  say  no 
more.  I  have  long  expected  this,  but  the  blow  is 
none  the  less  mortal  for  that." 


Napoleon  announcing  to  Josepliine  his  decision 
to  divorce  her 


Josephine  197 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Napoleon  suffered  at  this 
separation.  He  was  genuinely  attached  to  Jose- 
phine. Above  all  else  he  felt  that  she  was  necessary 
to  his  happiness.  How  deplorable  a  thing  it  is  that 
affairs  of  state  can  be  so  exacting  as  to  break 
violently  the  bonds  of  an  affection  which  has  stood 
the  test  of  time ! 

With  a  dignity  and  sweetness  of  which  few 
women  would  have  been  capable,  Josephine  met 
her  sorrow  face  to  face.  Not  even  on  that  memo- 
rable evening  —  the  day  before  the  official  disso- 
lution—  when  she  did  the  honors  of  her  court  for 
the  last  time,  did  she  permit  herself  to  give  way. 
A  great  throng  was  present.  Supper  was  served  in 
the  Gallery  of  Diana,  on  small  tables.  Josephine 
sat,  as  always,  in  the  center  of  the  gallery,  and 
the  men  passed  near  her,  waiting  for  that  pecu- 
liarly graceful  nod  of  recognition  which  she  was 
in  the  habit  of  bestowing  upon  them.  They  could 
but  be  struck  with  the  perfection  of  her  attitude 
in  the  presence  of  all  these  people  who  did  her 
homage  for  the  last  time.  All  knew  that  within 
the  hour  she  was  to  descend  from  the  throne  and 
leave  the  palace,  never  to  return.  At  last  one  man 
spoke  his  thoughts.  "  Only  a  woman,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  could  rise  superior  to  such  a  situation 
as  this!"     It  was  true.    The  Emperor  showed  by 


198  Boijal  Women 

no  means  so  bold  a  front.  It  was  the  understanding 
tfcat  Napoleon  was  to  go  to  St.  Cloud  and  the 
Empress  to  return  to  Malmaison. 

It  was  the  walls  of  Josephine's  little  boudoir 
which  witnessed  the  final  chapter  of  the  tragedy. 
Here  the  inevitable  good-bys  were  said.  Here  the 
Empress  begged  her  husband  not  to  forget  her. 
Here,  at  his  request,  she  promised  to  follow  his 
wishes  in  a  few  things.  She  was  to  deny  herself 
nothing  that  she  wished,  to  take  care  of  her  health, 
to  pay  no  attention  to  any  gossip  she  might  hear 
concerning  him,  and  never  to  doubt  his  love! 

When  the  Emperor  had  left  her,  she  entered  her 
carriage  and  was  driven  away  to  IMalmaison.  The 
winter  winds  wailed  and  the  cold  rain  of  a  December 
night  beat  against  the  windows.  Alone,  she  gave 
way  to  her  grief.  Her  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
days  when  the  Conqueror  of  Italy  had  written  her 
such  burning  words  of  love.  Now  the  memory  of 
them  is  all  that  is  left  her.  She  is  separated  forever 
from  the  man  whom  she  loves.  She  is  disowned, 
driven  from  the  scenes  of  her  former  splendor. 
She  has  drunk  to  the  depths  the  chalice  of  the  bitter- 
ness of  divorce,  which  for  so  long  she  had  prayed 
to  be  spared.  At  Malmaison,  the  enchanted  spot 
where  she  had  been  happy  as  the  wife  of  the  First 
Consul,  Josephine  dragged  out  the  few  remaining 


Josephine  I99 

years  of  her  life,  shortened,  undoubtedly,  by  her 
sorroWo 

On  the  twelfth  of  March,  1810,  Napoleon  was 
married  to  Marie  Louise,  daughter  of  the  Emperor 
of  Austria.    The  Germans  are  fond  of  saying  that 
when  he  married  her  he  wed  the  ill-luck  of  the 
Austrian   house.      Napoleon   had    no    affection    to 
bestow  upon  her.     She  had,  naturally,  a  horror  of 
the  man  who  had  caused  her  country  so  much  woe. 
This  feeling  passed  away,  to  a  certain  extent,  as 
time  went  by;   but  Marie  Louise  had  already  love 
in  her  heart  for  another  before  this  marriage  was 
contemplated,  and  to  that  other  she  returned  when 
the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  had  flung  her  husband 
adrift  on  the  sea  of  exile,  where  he  was  wrecked. 
Nevertheless,  she  sought  to  play  the  Empress  with 
gayety  and  good-will.     But  the  charm  of  the  court 
of  Josephine  never  returned.     She  had  accomplish- 
ments.    Marie  Louise  had  none,  and  whenever  she 
appeared  in  public,  with  or  without  the  Emperor, 
she  wore  always  the  apatlietic  smile  of  the  Haps- 
burgs. 

A  year  after  the  marriage  the  long-desired  heir 
to  the  French  throne  was  born.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  the  birth  of  the  child  should  be 
announced  to  the  people  by  cannon  shot  — twenty- 
one  guns  if  a  princess,  a  hundred  and  one  if  a 


200  Royal  Women 

prince.  When  the  twenU'-first  shot  died  away  Paris 
held  its  breath.  Then  the  people  broke  forth  in  the 
wildest  enthusiasm  when  the  next  shot  proclaimed 
the  birth  of  the  King  of  Rome. 

Josephine  was  sta3ang  at  Navarre.  T\Tien  she 
heard  the  sound  of  the  cannon  she  called  her  people 
together  and  said:  "We,  too,  must  rejoice.  I  will 
give  you  a  ball,  and  the  whole  city  shall  be  glad 
with  us." 

Those  who  surrounded  him  knew  very  well  that 
the  surest  passport  to  their  Emperor's  favor  was 
a  visit  to  Malmaison  to  pay  one's  respect  to  Jose- 
phine. He  never  lost  the  protecting  tenderness 
which  he  had  always  cherished  toward  her.  Once 
after  the  divorce  the  Emperor  learned  that  Jose- 
phine's financial  affairs  had  become  entangled  and 
sent  a  trusted  officer  of  his  staff  to  her  with  instruc- 
tions to  straighten  things  out.  His  orders  were 
explicit  that  he  was  not  to  distress  her  in  any  way. 
When  the  officer  returned,  the  Emperor  asked  him 
what  she  said  and  did.  He  replied,  "  She  said 
nothing.  Sire.  She  did  nothing.  She  only  wept 
all  the  time."  Napoleon  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
began  pacing  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  as 
was  his  habit  when  under  emotion.  Finally  he 
burst  forth  furiously,  "  You  have  managed  badly  — 
very  badly.  Did  I  not  expressly  order  you  not  to 
make  her  weep .'' " 


Joscplwie  201 

Not  long  after  this  Napoleon  contrived,  without 
Marie  Louise's  knowledge,  to  carry  the  babe  to 
Malmaison  to  Josephine,  who  had  begged  to  see 
him.  When  they  parted  he  said  to  her,  "  This 
child,  in  concert  with  our  Eugene,  shall  constitute 
our  happiness  and  that  of  France." 

How  mistaken  was  he!  Uneasiness  and  dis- 
content were  already  rife  in  France.  There  was 
religious  disaffection  also.  Napoleon,  who  ten 
years  before  had  braved  so  much  to  reestablish  the 
Catholic  Church  in  France,  now  showed  contempt 
for  the  authority  of  the  Pope,  and  in  so  doing 
wounded  the  deepest  sentiments  of  his  country.  In 
the  palace  at  Fontainebleau  he  kept  Pius  Seventh 
prisoner  for  more  than  two  years.  They  quarreled 
continuously.  It  was  a  case  where  Greek  met 
Greek.  Neither  would  yield.  In  addition  to  this, 
there  was  the  conscription  —  the  tax  of  blood  and 
muscle  demanded  of  the  country.  Formerly  the 
only  son  of  the  mother,  the  father  whose  children 
were  motherless,  the  extremely  youthful,  and  the 
advanced  in  years  had  been  exempt  from  military 
service.  Not  so  now.  The  army  must  be  main- 
tained, and  between  1804  and  1811  a  million  seven 
hundred  thousand  Frenchmen  had  fallen  in  battle. 
Nor  was  that  all.  It  had  become  evident  that  war 
with  Russia  was  an  assured  thing.  Causes  had 
been  accumulating  for  many  months.     Napoleon 


202  Boyal  Women 

hoped  to  avert  this  catastrophe,  but  failed,  and 
France,  poor,  ah^eady  devastated,  wounded  and 
bleeding  France,  was  doomed  to  make  the  Russian 
campaign.* 

It  was  utter  disaster.  Napoleon  led  the  Grande 
Armee  into  the  very  heart  of  that  immense  country, 
where  it  was  engulfed  in  the  snow.  The  little 
Italian-bred  Emperor  who  had  dreamed  of  con- 
quering Russia  was  himself  conquered  by  the  Rus- 
sian winter.     When   the  French   reached   IMoscow 

*  The  Russians  hold  that  two  trivial  circumstances  contributed 
largely  to  Napoleon's  determination  to  make  war  upon  Russia. 
First,  when  Bonaparte  was  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  French 
army  he  had  applied  to  the  Russian  General  Zaborowski  for  a  po- 
sition on  the  staff  of  the  Czarina  Catherine  II.  But  as  he 
wished  to  be  admitted  to  the  Russian  army  with  the  rank  of 
General,  the  request  was  refused.  General  Zaborowski  never  for- 
gave himself  for  this  refusal.  When  Napoleon  went  to  Russia  he 
was  an  old  man  living  in  IMoscow,  and  shortly  afterward  he  died 
lamenting  to  the  last  moment  that  he  had  thus  contributed 
toward  the  misfortunes  which  had  overtaken  his  country  be- 
cause of  the  personal  animosity  of  Napoleon  toward  himself. 

The  second  circumstance  was  still  more  trivial.  After  the 
divorce.  Napoleon  had  asked  the  hand  of  one  of  the  sisters  of 
the  Czar.  The  plan  had  been  frustrated  by  the  latter's  mother, 
Catherine  II,  who  was  also  the  mother  of  the  princess  whom 
Napoleon  wished  to  wed.  One  hesitates  to  ascribe  to  wounded 
vanity  the  bitter  hatred  which  Napoleon  seemed  to  entertain 
toward  Russia,  but  calling  to  mind  the  character  and  tempera- 
ment of  the  man  it  is  impossible  not  to  consider  it.  And  when, 
later,  the  Czarina  bestowed  her  daughter's  hand  upon  a  petty 
German  prince,  the  intent  of  the  offense  was  apparent.  If  there 
was  one  thing  on  earth  which  Napoleon  could  not  tolerate  it  was 
ridicule.  Furious  and  chagrined  beyond  expression,  he  wed  Marie 
Louise  of  Austria.  He  drove  the  Duke  of  Oldenberg  out  of  Aus- 
tria and  threatened  all  the  Czar's  German  relatives  with  the 
same  fate.  Then  he  began  to  prepare  for  war.  It  is  thought 
that  at  first  he  intended  only  to  awe  Alexander  with  the  magni- 
tude of  his  preparation  and  to  compel  him  to  humiliate  himself 
before  all  Europe.  But  for  once  he  met  his  match.  In  the  face 
of  -that  same  Europe,  Alexander  got  ready  to  resist  and  Napoleon 
was  left  (as  the  French  say)  to  "drink  the  uncorked  wine." 


Josephine  203 

they  found  that  the  city  had  been  abandoned. 
Soldiers,  citizens,  the  royal  family,  all  had  fled 
en  masse.  It  was  an  empty  conquest.  Napoleon 
and  his  staff  made  their  headquarters  in  the  Krem- 
lin. But  the  great  fire  broke  out  and  they  were 
compelled  to  flee  for  their  lives.  Things  went  from 
bad  to  worse.  The  French  troops  were  everywhere 
defeated.  If  they  fell  not  in  battle,  they  became 
victims  of  the  climate  or  of  the  Russian  dysentery. 
At  last  the  Emperor  got  the  army  into  some 
semblance  of  military  order  and  that  memorable 
retreat  was  begun  —  down  the  great  white  road 
which  led  out  from  Moscow.  Napoleon  started  in 
a  carriage,  but  soon  got  out  and  walked.  The 
staffs  fell  in  behind  him.  The  rank  and  file  followed. 
The  Emperor  looked  out  over  the  landscape,  where, 
in  places,  the  snow  lay  piled  eight  feet  deep.  The 
air  was  filled  with  vultures.  The  legs  and  arms  of 
dead  soldiers  stuck  out  of  the  drifts.  Now  and 
then  a  ghastly  face  looked  up  at  him.  The  soldiers 
were  rebellious  and  hungry.  The  terrors  of  the  cold 
and  starvation  wrung  cries  from  the  Emperor  him- 
self. Paris !  France ! !  How  far  away  they  seemed. 
Of  the  long,  freezing  march,  the  passage  of  the 
Beresina,  where  the  bridge  broke  down  and  let  a 
thousand  men  and  horses  down  into  the  ice-cold 
water,  the  half  has  never  been  told.  Finally  they 
crossed  the  Nieman,  and  what  was  left  of  the  army 


204  lioifnl  Women 

crawled  to  the  hospitals  and  asked  for  the  rooms 
where  people  die !  Napoleon  and  his  ragged  officers 
pressed  on  to  Paris,  but  the  pride  of  the  French 
army  lay  asleep  under  the  Russian  snows. 

It  took  courage  to  face  France  after  the  great 
disaster,  but  he  made  the  best  of  it.  The  powers, 
however,  had  allied  themselves  to  crush  him,  and 
the  one  thing  more  to  be  feared  than  war  —  the 
spirit  of  revolt  and  anarchy  at  home  —  became 
evident  at  Paris.  Some  of  his  oldest  and  most 
trusted  generals  deserted  him,  and  this  treachery 
took  away  the  last  hope  of  the  imperial  cause.  Not 
until  now  did  that  iron  will  waver  under  the  shock 
of  defeat.  His  family,  as  well  as  himself,  de- 
nounced by  his  enemies,  ignorant  of  the  fate  of 
his  wife  and  child,  he  gave  up  the  fight. 

In  the  court  of  the  palace  at  Fontainebleau  the 
Emperor  bade  farewell  to  his  grenadiers.  Then 
he  departed  for  Elba  —  the  third  of  the  four 
islands  —  whither  he  was  exiled.  His  discourage- 
ment was  brief.  He  was  told  that  he  was  to  be 
in  control  of  the  affairs  of  the  little  kingdom,  so 
he  prepared  for  the  journey  with  energy  and  spirit. 

Marie  Louise  showed  her  indifference  to  her 
husband's  welfare  by  refusing  to  join  him  at  Elba. 
When  Josephine  heard  of  it  her  indignation  knew 
no  bounds.  She  wrote  Napoleon  expressing  her 
undiminished  loyalty  to  his  interests  and  begging 


1^ 


-?/^rw^-j^<-fc^^-^^ 


«»   •  -    > 


Pi^l  I' 


Josephine  205 

to  be  permitted  to  come  to  him.  This  letter 
touched  Napoleon  deeply,  although  he  was  obliged, 
of  course,  to  deny  her  request.  Before  the  letter 
reached  INIalmaison,  however,  its  gentle  mistress  had 
passed  away.  A  slight  cold,  contracted  while  walk- 
ing in  the  park,  developed  into  an  attack  which 
proved  fatal. 

Napoleon  made  his  headquarters  at  San  Martino. 
Here  his  mother,  the  Princess  Pauline,  and  twenty- 
six  members  of  the  National  Guard  joined  him. 
But  his  desire  to  see  again  his  little  son  was  never 
gratified. 

The  most  dramatic  episode  in  all  Napoleon's 
career  —  a  career  unparalleled  in  history  —  was 
his  escape  from  the  island  of  Elba.  With  a  force 
of  eleven  hundred  men  he  ran  the  gauntlet  of 
foreign  ships  which  guarded  the  harbor,  and  on 
the  first  of  INIarch  landed  at  Cannes,  on  the  way  to 
Paris.  The  people  hailed  him  joyfully.  They 
followed  him  en  masse.  The  journey  was  one 
triumphal  march  from  the  time  of  the  landing  till 
they  reached  the  palace  at  Fontainebleau,  on  which 
day  Louis  Eighteenth  fled  from  Paris. 

Napoleon  was  wont  to  say  that  the  happiest 
period  of  his  life  was  that  march  from  Cannes  to 
Paris.  But  the  joy  was  short-lived.  The  enthu- 
siasm died  away.  Opposition  developed,  plots  fol- 
lowed, and  in  the  face  of  this  revulsion  the  inevitable 


206  Royal  Women 

happened.  The  man  himself  underwent  a  change. 
He  became  sad  and  preoccupied.  His  courage  left 
him.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  faith  in  himself. 
Much  of  this  was  due  to  the  fact  that  Austria 
refused  to  restore  to  him  his  wife  and  child.  Marie 
Louise  had  succumbed  to  foreign  influence.  She 
had  promised  never  more  to  see  him. 

Three  months  after  Napoleon  returned  to 
France,  however,  he  had  an  army  of  tAvo  hundred 
thousand  men,  and  on  the  night  of  the  fourteenth 
day  of  June,  1815,  he  stood  by  his  camp  fire  and 
watched  his  sleeping  army  on  the  field  of  Waterloo. 
In  the  morning  the  ncver-to-be-forgottcn  struggle 
was  begun.  By  nightfall  the  defeat  was  complete. 
The  Emperor  realized  it.  He  threw  himself  into 
the  battle,  seeking  death  as  eagerly  as  he  had  sought 
victory  at  Marengo.  ]Men  fell  all  around  him, 
before,  behind,  on  all  sides,  but  death  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  him.  He  returned  to  Paris  where 
manj'  urged  him  to  continue  the  struggle.  But 
loyalty  to  the  best  interests  of  France  moved  him 
to  abdicate.  He  signed  the  abdication,  renouncing 
his  rights  to  the  throne  and  proclaiming  his  son 
Emperor,  with  the  title  of  Napoleon  Second. 

Where  should  he  seek  refuge  now,  this  fallen 
Emperor  of  the  French?  His  thoughts  turned 
naturally  to  the  spot  where  his  happiest  days,  the 
days  with  Josephine,  had  been  spent  —  Malmaison. 


Josephine  207 

Thither  he  betook  himself  on  leaving  Paris.  What 
must  have  been  his  thoughts  when  he  saw  those 
gray  walls  in  the  distance?  In  the  park,  under  the 
trees  which  whispered  to  him  of  dreams  long  dead, 
Josephine's  unhappy  daughter  joined  him.  To- 
gether they  entered  the  house,  the  deserted  halls 
of  which  were  tenanted  by  phantoms  of  the  past. 
The  walls  of  Josephine's  home  spoke  to  him  in  that 
mysterious  language  which  one  hears  only  in  the 
silence. 

When  he  reached  the  Empress'  apartments  he 
paused,  unable  to  enter,  so  profound  was  his  emo- 
tion. Finally  he  went  in  alone  and  sat  down.  Here, 
in  the  gathering  twilight,  he  gave  rein  to  his 
thoughts.  He  heard  in  fancy  the  sound  of  Jose- 
phine's gentle  voice.  To  .him  it  seemed  that  the 
end  of  all  things  had  come.  Waterloo  was  lost. 
Josephine  was  dead.  His  Austrian  wife  had  aban- 
doned him.  His  idolized  little  son  was  his  no  more 
except  in  dreams. 

On  the  morrow,  his  mother,  his  brothers  and  a 
few  of  his  faithful  soldiers  assembled  to  bid  him  an 
eternal  farewell.  The  last  one  of  whom  he  took 
leave  was  his  mother.  When  all  the  other  good-bys 
had  been  said  he  turned  to  her,  and  their  parting 
takes  one  back  to  the  days  of  the  Spartans,  so 
sublime  was  its  simplicity.  "Adieu,  mon  fils,"  said 
Madame  Laetitia.    The  Emperor  kissed  her  hands. 


208  Boijal  Women 

** Adieu,  ma  mere"  he  answered.  Then  he  entered 
his  carriage,  in  Austrian  uniform  (which  he  had 
been  compelled  to  don  for  the  purpose  of  disguise), 
and  was  driven  away.  He  had  looked  his  last  on 
Malmaison.* 

All  plans  to  escape  from  France  proved  futile, 
and  the  Emperor  resolved  to  give  himself  up  to 
England,  He  sent  the  following  message,  charac- 
teristic and  dignified,  to  the  Regent : 

"  Royal  Highness  :  Exposed  to  the  factions 
which  divide  my  country,  and  to  the  hostilities  of 
the  great  powers  of  Europe,  I  have  closed  my 
political  career.  I  am  come,  like  Themistocles,  to 
seek  the  hospitality  of  the  British  nation.  I  place 
myself  under  the  protection  of  its  laws,  which 
protection  I  claim  from  Your  Royal  Highness  as 
the  most  powerful,  the  most  constant,  and  the  most 
generous  of  my  enemies." 

Who  shall  ever  be  able  to  understand  England's 
course  as  it  regards  Napoleon.''  There  was  every 
reason  to  suppose  that  she  would  receive  him  with 
dignity  and  consideration.  Was  he  not  an  enemy 
worthy  of  English  metal?     He  had  been  defeated 

♦  No  historic  spot  in  all  tlic  world  is  sadder  than  Malmaison. 
Ilpre  one  lowers  his  voice  and  steps  softly  lest  he  disturb  the 
sleep  of  illustrious  hosts.  Surely  no  man  who  has  a  love  of 
either  history  or  romance  in  his  soul  can  enter  this  house  with- 
out emotion.  IIow  sorrowful  to  contemplate  that  Malmaison 
was  turned  into  barracks  for  Bliicher's  soldiers,  and  that  half  a 
century  later  the  troops  of  the  victor  of  Sedan  installed  tbem- 
selves  in  triumph  in  the  halls  where  the  First  Consul  held  his 
ipilitary  court  I 


Josephine  209 

only  after  years  of  struggle.  To  leave  him  at 
large,  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question ;  but 
England's  self-respect  demanded  that  she  treat  him 
as  became  his  genius  and  his  rank.  She  might 
have  made  him  a  royal  prisoner,  letting  him  under- 
stand that  she  kept  him  so  because  she  feared 
his  power.  But  that  so  powerful  a  nation  as 
England  should  forget  the  principles  of  justice 
and  humanity  in  so  far  that  she  did  not  recognize 
what  was  due  a  fallen  foe  who  had  surrendered 
himself,  is  as  incapable  of  solution  as  was  the  riddle 
of  the  Sphinx. 

A  week  later  Napoleon  found  himself  on  board 
the  Northumberland,  outward  bound  for  the  stony 
island  in  the  tropics.  A  few  da3^s  later  he  was 
transferred  to  the  Bellerophon,  and  on  the  fifteenth 
day  of  October,  1815,  just  four  months  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo,  the  vessel  with  the  Emperor  on 
board  anchored  in  the  harbor  of  Jamestown,  St. 
Helena.  Here  the  sealed  instructions  concerning 
him  were  delivered  to  the  Governor-General,  and  a 
week  later,  the  Emperor,  under  guard,  watched  the 
Bellerophon  sink  behind  the  sea  on  its  return  voyage 
to  England.  Here,  in  the  last  of  the  four  islands, 
far  from  his  country  and  his  friends,  unused  to 
the  climate,  tortured  and  insulted  by  spying  offi- 
cials, hearing  nothing  but  miserable  bickerings  over 
the  cost  of  his  table  (as  though  the  bread  of  exile 


210  Royal  Women 

were  not  sufficiently  bitter),  obliged  to  purchase  at 
exorbitant  price  so  small  a  luxury  as  a  bunch  of 
grapes,  the  Emperor  lived  and  suffered  for  six 
long  years.  His  days  were  one  long  succession  of 
sorrows.  Hope  had  vanished.  His  cause  was  lost. 
His  friends  had  been  proscribed.  The  members  of 
his  family,  to  whom  he  was  so  strongly  attached, 
were  the  waifs  and  strays  of  the  tempest  which  had 
wrought  his  own  destruction. 

In  his  little  cottage,  called  Longwood,  Napoleon 
dictated  his  Memoires.  When  one  considers  that  he 
was  dependent  solely  on  memory,  and  then  remem- 
bers that  these  writings  fill  four  large  volumes,  he 
realizes  of  what  that  active  mind  was  capable.  He 
lived  as  much  as  possible  within  his  cottage.  By 
degrees  he  gave  up  all  exercise,  and  the  steady 
advance  of  an  incurable  disease  increased  the  pain 
and  irritation  of  a  nature  which  had  been  wounded 
to  the  quick. 

In  the  Corcoran  Gallery  at  Washington  is  a 
marble  figure  of  the  Emperor  by  Vela.  He  calls 
it  "  The  Last  Day."  There  is  no  more  superb 
statue  in  all  the  world.  How  changed  now  is  the 
fine  head  and  once  handsome  countenance!  The 
sensitive  mouth  in  which  a  yoimg  girl  might  have 
gloried  has  become  a  hard,  firm  line  with  a  pathetic 
droop  at  the  corners.  The  open  robe  shows  a  thin 
and  bony  chest.    On  his  knee  lies  the  outspread  map 


Josephine  211 

of  Europe.  Alas,  the  hand  that  once  carved  out 
empires  there  is  powerless  now  to  trace  his  name! 
There  is  weariness  and  hopelessness  and  despair  in 
the  attitude  of  the  dying  Emperor. whom  England 
has  condemned  to  this  existence  —  chained,  like 
Prometheus,  to  a  barren  rock.  England  may  have 
feared  or  hated  him,  but  her  revenge  had  in  it  the 
quintessence  of  cruelty. 

On  the  night  of  the  fifth  of  May,  1821,  the  most 
terrible  tempest  which  had  ever  been  known  in  the 
tropics  poured  its  wrath  upon  St.  Helena,  as  if  to 
sweep  her  from  the  face  of  the  waters.  But  within 
the  little  cottage,  surrounded  by  his  faithful  few, 
tlie  Emperor  lay  with  quiet  hands  and  the  cross  on 
his  breast,  unmindful  of  the  fury  of  the  storm. 

The  graves  of  the  Bonapartes  lie  far  apart. 
Tiiat  family  so  closely  allied  in  life  is  widely  scat- 
tered in  death.  The  little  Corsican  mother,  who 
was  the  only  member  of  the  family  from  whom  the 
Emperor  did  not  expect  and  exact  obedience,  lived 
for  fifteen  years  after  her  illustrious  son  had  passed 
away.  When  the  news  of  his  death  was  brought  to 
her  she  said  with  that  simplicity  which  was  a  part 
of  her,  "I  thank  you,  my  friend.  All  is  well  now 
with  my  son."  What  does  it  matter  to  a  man's 
mother  that  he  has  reached  the  pinnacle  of  earthly 
greatness?  He  can  never  be  aught  to  her  but  the 
babe  that  once  lay  in  her  arms !     Madame  Bona- 


212  lio/jal  Women 

parte  (lied  in  1836,  and  is  buried  at  Rome.  Eliza 
found  a  resting-place  at  Trieste,  Pauline  at  Flor- 
ence, Caroline  at  Naples. 

In  the  village  of  Reuil  is  to  be  seen  a  modest 
little  church.  Bourienne  tells  us  that  during  the 
time  that  the  Bonapartes  lived  at  Malmaison  noth- 
ing so  pleased  Napoleon  as  the  sound  of  these 
church  bells.  Ofttimes  when  they  walked  together 
(the  Emperor  often  dictating  letters  as  they  went), 
he  would  stop  still,  asking  Bourienne  to  do  like- 
wise, in  order  that  he  might  not  lose  one  single 
tone  of  those  distant  bells  whose  music  charmed 
and  soothed  him.  Inside  the  little  church  is  a 
monument.  It  calls  forth  a  host  of  memories.  The 
figure  is  that  of  a  woman  kneeling.  She  wears  no 
royal  insignia,  but  there  is  something  about  it  all 
which  is  strangely  familiar.  Instinctivel}'  the  mind 
goes  back  to  a  day  long  gone.  One  sees  again  the 
splendid  interior  of  Notre  Dame,  the  glittering 
pageant,  the  Emperor  holding  a  crown  above  the 
head  of  his  wife.  Then  one's  eyes  fall  upon  the 
simple  inscription : 

A  Josephine, 

EucfeXE   ET   HORTENSE 

In  the  foundation  of  the  pedestal  she  sleeps  who 
was  once  Empress  of  the  French,  and  many  are  the 
thoughts  on  the  nothingness  of  human  greatness 
which  come  to  one  in  this  village  church  with  its 


X 


a 


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Josej)hinc  213 

eloquent  silence.  Near  by  is  another  monument, 
which  in  later  years  Napoleon  Third  placed  there 
to  the  memory  of  his  idolized  mother,  Josephine's 
only  daughter,  Queen  Hortense  of  Holland. 

They  buried  the  Emperor  in  a  valley,  now  called 
the  Valley  of  Napoleon,  beside  a  spring  that  he 
loved.  Perhaps  no  grave  in  history  is  so  well  known 
as  the  willow-fringed  mound  in  St.  Helena  where 
the  Emperor  slept  in  quiet  for  nineteen  years. 
Then  France  awoke.  She  requested  the  return  of 
Napoleon's  body  to  his  countrymen.  England 
granted  the  request.  The  youngest  son  of  Louis 
Eighteenth  was  despatched  to  St.  Helena  on  this 
mission.  The  French  officers  and  sailors  who  accom- 
panied him  felt  themselves  deeply  moved  when  the 
coffin  of  the  Emperor  was  seen  coming  slowly  down 
the  mountainside,  escorted  by  the  British  infantry, 
with  arms  reversed,  the  drums  rolling  an  accompani- 
ment —  the  band  playing  the  Funeral  March.  The 
English  soldiers  stood  motionless  on  the  beach.  The 
French  guns  fired  the  royal  salute.  The  coffin  was 
placed  on  board  the  French  cutter,  and  the  scene  of 
mourning  became  one  of  rejoicing.  Flags  were 
unfurled.  The  drums  beat.  Every  vessel  in  the 
harbor  fired  a  salute.  The  Emperor  had  come  back 
to  his  own ! 

The  vessel  sailed  away  to  France.      After  the 
landing,  the  passing  of  the  funeral  car  was  every- 


214  Bojial  Women 

where  greeted  with  profound  emotion  and  reverence. 
Through  the  streets  of  Paris  the  Beautiful  —  Paris, 
the  city  of  his  dreams  —  down  the  Champs  Elysees, 
under  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  the  splendid  funeral 
cortege  took  its  way.  Vast  crowds  of  people  lined 
the  streets  in  silence.  There  was  no  need  for  words. 
Yonder  in  the  distance  the  Vendome  Column  towers 
over  Paris,  and  its  bronze  tablets  are  still  telling 
the  nations  the  unforgotten  story. 

The  climax  of  all  was  the  funeral  mass  in  the 
Hotel  des  Invalides.  The  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
followed  by  long  rows  of  white-clad  priests,  formed 
the  procession  at  the  entrance.  The  king  descended 
from  his  throne  and  advanced  to  meet  them.  When 
the  casket  had  been  placed  upon  the  catafalque,  the 
3'oung  prince  reported  the  end  of  his  mission. 
"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  I  present  to  you  the  body  of 
Napoleon,  which,  in  accordance  with  your  Majesty's 
commands,  I  have  brought  back  to  France." 

"I  receive  it  —  in  the  name  of  France,"  the  king 
replied.  Then  turning  to  old  Marshal  Bertrand, 
whose  loyalt}'  to  his  master  had  extended  to  the 
sharing  of  his  exile,  the  king  said: 

"General,  I  commission  j-ou  to  place  the  Em- 
peror's glorious  sword  upon  his  bier."  The  great 
company  looked  on  in  the  deepest  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  half-stifled  sobs  of  the  few  gray-haired 


The  Emperor 


Josephine  .  215 

soldiers  who  remained  of  all  those  who  had  marched 
with  the  Emperor  from  Toulon  to  Waterloo. 

Napoleon's  life  was  one  of  lights  and  shadows. 
None  look  upon  him  as  a  god.  He  was  too  full  of 
faults.  But  so  natural  a  man  was  he  that  wherever 
nature  lived  in  a  heart  his  sway  was  absolute,  and 
this  explains  his  hold  on  men.  There  are  those  who 
idolize  him  —  those  who  execrate  his  memory. 
There  are  those  who  laugh  to  scorn  the  idea  that 
affection  was  a  part  of  Napoleon's  make-up.  But 
to  deny  that  his  love  for  his  mother  was  sincere,  to 
declare  that  he  was  not  deeply  attached  to  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  or  to  hold  that  he  did  not  make 
innumerable  sacrifices  for  them  —  above  all,  to  deny 
his  passionate  attachment  to  Josephine  —  would  be 
to  render  a  verdict  not  based  upon  the  evidence. 
Moreover,  the  permanency  of  Napoleon's  greatness 
is  a  marvelous  thing.  Year  after  year,  accusers 
arise,  assail  his  memory,  pass  away,  and  are  for- 
gotten. But  like  some  gigantic  cliff  against  which 
the  restless  sea  beats  ceaselessly,  the  figure  of  Napo- 
leon, grim  and  impenetrable,  stands  out  against  the 
stormy  skies  of  history. 

The  most  impressive  monument  in  all  Europe-  is 
the  Emperor's  tomb.  It  was  his  dearest  wish  that 
he  might  sleep  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  in  the 
midst  of  the  French  people.    That  wish  at  last  came 


216  lloijal  Women 

true.  The  solemn  silence  which  fills  the  cr3^pt  is 
more  eloquent  than  words.  One  looks  down  upon 
that  massive  sarcophagus.  One  sees  the  tattered 
flags.  One  reads  in  the  floor  words  which  are 
burned  into  the  world's  history  —  Wagram  — 
Moscow  —  Friedland  —  Rivoli.  One  remembers 
also  how  restless  was  the  heart  of  him  who  slumbers 
here  so  soundly-  Not  even  the  bugles  and  the  guns 
of  victorious  Prussians  thundering  at  the  gates  of 
Paris  could  rouse  him  from  his  dreamless  sleep. 
One  lifts  his  eyes  to  the  splendid  dome  of  the 
Hotel  des  Invalides,  beneath  which,  guarded  in 
death  as  in  life  by  Bertrand  and  Duroc,  his  favorite 
Marshals,  and  close  by  the  bodies  of  his  brothers, 
Jerome  and  Joseph,  the  Emperor  awaits  the  last 
great  call  to  arms.  And  then  —  involuntarily  one's 
thoughts  revert  to  the  quiet  little  church  at  Reuil 
where  Josephine  is  sleeping  her  last  long  sleep. 


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